


Stand Without Flinching

by AngelSelene



Series: Stars that Have People Names [5]
Category: Gundam Wing, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous Morality, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War Fix-It, Enhanced Gundam Pilots, F/F, F/M, Family Reunification Act, Found Family, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Not Gundam Wing: Frozen Teardrop Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Real Family, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, past Duo Maxwell/OMC, romance is not the focus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 98,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelSelene/pseuds/AngelSelene
Summary: For Duo Maxwell, family are the people he has loved and lost and whose names he bears.For Tony Stark, family has always been blood and a name and Howard's shadow looming over him.Tony tried to make a family of choice with the Avengers, but that hasn't gone so great. When the Family Reunification Registry identifies a Duo Maxwell as his son, Tony tries to find him and offer him a family he didn't know he had. The first time Tony lays his eyes on his son in person, it's in a police interview room. Turns out, that's not the most complicated part."I don't care about whose DNA has recombined with whose. When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching, they are your family." ~ Jim ButcherPost GW: Endless Waltz/Post Civil War. This work can be read as the first of the series or as a standalone.
Relationships: Chang Wufei/Sally Po, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Heero/OFC, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: Stars that Have People Names [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704880
Comments: 704
Kudos: 444





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wolves and Lambs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351587) by [Thai_Tea_Addict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thai_Tea_Addict/pseuds/Thai_Tea_Addict). 



> Wolves and Lambs inspired me to try another take on the "real family" trope. It's amazing. You should go read it. Here's hoping I do even half as well with the character building and fitting the worlds together as TTA does.
> 
> Note--The Stars That Have People Names series is ordered chronologically by the in-world timeline, but Stand 100% stands alone. You do not need to read the other pieces in the series. The other stories are companions that take place in the same universe and timeline but all pieces stand alone. In fact, I would tend to recommend reading Stand first.

_In 1910, with high hopes, humans leave Earth to begin a new life in the space colonies. In the wake of World War II, the Earth Sphere Alliance, in the name of Justice and Peace, began taking control of the colonies._

_In the year After Colony 95, to counter the Alliance’s tyranny, rebel colonists brought new arsenals to the Earth disguised as shooting stars. The mission was called Operation Meteor. Its discovery and the appearance of gundanium-plated mobile suits known as Gundams on Earth mark the beginning of what will be called the Eve Wars._

__

_Selling munitions during the First Eve War propelled Stark Industries into riches on par with the colonial Winner family. Tony Stark’s escape from captivity and cessation of munitions manufacturing in the post-Eve War world caused controversy and nearly toppled one of the largest corporations in the world. The support and innovation provided for cleanup and rebuilding after the failed Libra drop allowed the company to stabilize, particularly after Tony Stark revealed himself as Iron Man. The Preventers Agency formed in the wake of the war as a paramilitary anti-terror organization, answering to the United Earth Sphere Council._

__

_The Mariemaia Incident, also known as the Second Eve War, would be overshadowed in people’s minds less than a year later when the existence of extraterrestrial life in our universe was confirmed at the Battle of New York. With this new information, the Gundams and the relative brevity of the Eve Wars—regardless of their casualties—have been all but forgotten by those who did not fight or did not lose someone to them._

__

### 

AC 101

Tony Stark's resources were—put mildly—considerable. So when he'd been looking for someone for a month and finding absolutely _nothing_ , it was time to try something new, which was why he was sitting in Director Anne Une's office in Brussels, having shown up without an appointment and blustered his way in. 

She did not look pleased, but Tony knew way scarier women. Besides, _Tony_ wasn't pleased. He didn't like Une—hadn't liked her since their last meeting. He thought she was far too young and too inexperienced to be leading an experimental organization like the Preventers, but even he grudgingly had to admit she seemed to be doing a good job. Mostly he didn't like her because she headed the organization that was ostensibly replacing SHIELD. 

She didn't seem to like him much either, judging by her glare. 

"To what do I owe this invasion?" she asked, glare icy, and, okay, maybe she was up there with some of the scariest women Tony knew. Maybe the mug on her desk that said "World's Best Boss" with "boss" crossed out and "Evil Overlord" printed below it was not entirely a joke. 

"I need your help."

"If this is about the pilots again—"

"No, this one is personal," Tony interrupted. “Not that I don’t still appreciate their help with the, uh, Sokovia incident, and that I wouldn’t still love to know who they are, but…” He had pulled out his phone and quickly navigated as he spoke. "Duo Maxwell—he was an agent of yours," he said, projecting the image up so it was the size of a standard eight-by-ten. "I need to find him."

He watched her face carefully but after a flicker of surprise, she had shut her reaction down hard. Still, she recognized Duo, at least. It was a starting point. Tony had hacked Preventers files—a surprisingly difficult task that had taken weeks from outside, whoever built their security was _good_ —he dug through every line of Duo's personnel file, and it gave the picture of a reliable, if somewhat unorthodox, agent; not all that surprising from a kid who'd been a colonial rebel before finding his way to Preventers. Duo's file was thin on background details, but he'd joined at sixteen, and the file had noted that he was a legal adult under the Old Souls Statute. 

Tony, personally, disagreed with the whole premise of the Old Souls Statute. The Eve Wars had been fought disproportionately by under-twenty soldiers, and OZ had actively recruited as young as fourteen, putting kids into combat as young as sixteen. The Old Souls Statute conceded that those young vets weren't really kids anymore, and allowed them to enter the workforce as legal adults. In order to qualify for the Statute, service and testimony to active duty had to be filed formally. Duo had been a colonial rebel, which was odd in and of itself—not because the colonies didn't recruit from similar demographics, but because there just wasn't a lot of leadership that could legitimately testify to service. 

Second-in-Command of Preventers, Sally Po had been Duo's reference. She'd been an Alliance doctor turned rebel and had gone on to be second only to Une in power in the Preventers. Her testimony was pretty much unassailable. It had given Tony hope that Une might know him too. 

"Why do you need to find Maxwell?" Une asked, but everything about her demeanor told him he was walking on thin ice. 

"Because he's my son." He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto her desk. Une glanced down at it but didn't immediately reach for it. She probably didn't need to. He was sure she'd seen plenty of Family Reunification Act envelopes over the years. 

He couldn't help feeling a little smug about clearly blindsiding Anne Une. Tony didn't think many surprised her. She picked up the envelope, looking down at it to regather herself. She was good, but Tony already knew that. If he had looked away for a few seconds, he may have missed her reaction entirely. 

She fingered the envelope for a moment but didn't bother opening it, despite the implied invitation. Instead she handed it back to Tony, ignoring the projected image of Duo from Tony’s phone. "As Mr. Maxwell left the organization over a year ago, I'm afraid I don't know how much help I can be."

"I found his old apartment, and his old roommate," Tony said. "But there wasn't any forwarding address, and his roommate, er..."

If anything, Une's face became even blanker. Tony knew that Heero Yuy had been a Preventer only because he'd hacked their personnel files. If he hadn't known that, he wouldn't have guessed from meeting the guy, and even though Une probably _suspected_ he had hacked her files, she didn't _know_ , and he wasn't going to give her that ammunition. 

"I assume the roommate was not any help," she said. 

She was going to play dumb. That was irritating. "No. Didn't even remember Duo. His girlfriend was very defensive too." Understatement. Oliviana Fitzhugh-Stroh wasn't quite in Tony's stratosphere of obscene wealth and influence, but her family had deep ties to both the Alliance and OZ, and they'd come out of the Eve Wars basically unscathed by some minor miracle. She had been fiercely protective of Yuy and not afraid to cut Tony off when he tried to get to Yuy's past. 

"Apparently Yuy was one of yours too?"

"He was," she said shortly. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss."

For someone else, there may have been a massive law suit against the Preventers for whatever accident had caused Heero Yuy's amnesia, but Fitzhugh-Stroh hadn't come into the picture until after and apparently felt no need to push for legal action. Yuy's lost memories didn't seem like a detriment in his day-to-day life. If anything, he had been strangely at peace with missing almost all of his personal history from before two years ago. He'd been polite but firm about the fact that he had no idea who Duo was and sorry that he couldn't help Tony. 

Yuy had lived with Duo for almost three years and didn't remember him. Duo had quit the Preventers nine months after Yuy's accident—wherever the files were on that, they were buried where Tony hadn't been able to find or they were kept off the servers—and when he did, he'd apparently dropped entirely off the grid. 

Roommate and partner for at least two years while at Preventers. Since they lived together before they'd been partnered, there was a good chance they'd been friends before being partnered. Yuy had also been an adult under Old Souls, confirmed by Sally Po as well, which Tony took to mean their history probably went back to the war. 

God, but they'd had to have been young. Neither Duo nor Yuy had official records predating their joining of the Preventers, which meant they were both probably colonial orphans who joined the rebellion. It did make trying to trace Duo's history absolutely maddening. He simply didn't exist before Preventers—at least not on paper. Honestly, if he hadn't been with Preventers, his DNA probably would never have made it into the FRA database to get matched with Tony's. 

It had only been a month since Tony had found out that Duo existed, but in that month, the idea that he could have easily never known at all, that Duo could have died without him ever knowing, twisted up his stomach. He hadn't even met Duo, never talked to him, and the idea that he might never get to was unthinkable. 

Which was why he was in Une's office. He'd gleaned everything he could from Duo's official file, from the limited amount he'd been able to track his history before he'd gone dark. Now he needed someone who knew his son to help him. Yuy would have been ideal—he not only had been Duo's partner and roommate; he'd been listed as Duo's next-of-kin. Even knowing Preventers strict non-fraternization policy, Tony suspected there may have been more than just friendship between the two, but Yuy's amnesia made him a massive dead end. 

Duo hadn't ever had any other official employment, so this was the next best place Tony could go. 

Tony sighed—he could play the silent game with Une all day at this rate. Time to lay some cards on the table. "Look, I'm not here to criticize or berate. I just want to find my son. He's gone off the grid and could be anywhere. Even all of my resources are pretty much useless if I can't narrow down the area to look to smaller than 'maybe Europe.' Is he likely to have stayed in the area?"

It was miserable, but "maybe Europe" really had been as close as Tony had been able to get. He couldn't even trace Duo's movements as a Preventer since he would have usually traveled more-or-less under the radar on Preventers transportation. He was sure there was a detailed breakdown of where he'd been, when, and why somewhere, but it wasn't in the digital files. It wasn't in anyone's digital files. Preventers ascribed to the idea that paper was more secure than tech. Given that it had foiled Tony, he couldn't actually dispute the tactic. 

"I honestly don't know," she said, clasping her hands together on the desk. 

"Can you tell me why he quit?" 

"Some new vets joined right after the Eve Wars, especially young ones who didn't fit into civilian life but weren't really adults. Many have moved on since getting their feet and heads on straight," she said with a shrug. "Perhaps Maxwell was one of them."

Tony glared. She knew Duo. He _knew_ she did. And he didn't think it was in passing, the way that her answer implied. She'd known who Duo was the minute he said Duo's name. She was pointedly looking at Tony and refusing to look at Duo's projected image. The refusal to look at Duo was too deliberate, too personal, as if it pained her to look at him. "Can't you look up the reason in your system? Or don't you keep track of why people leave?" he asked. 

"I could, but even if I did, I wouldn't be under any obligation to disclose it to you," she said, standing. "I'm afraid I cannot help you, Mr. Stark."

"Just like you couldn't help with the Gundam pilots." He couldn't resist the jibe. 

"I refuse to retread already worn ground," she said, moving to the door, clearly inviting Tony to leave. 

"Damn it," Tony snapped, jumping to his feet. "This is my son. My _son_ , do you understand? My _son_ who fought in a war and has gone totally dark and probably doesn't even know I exist, and he could be dead for all we know!"

Une looked at him for a moment, so cool he wanted to pull her hair just to see her reaction. When she spoke, it wasn't what Tony expected. "If you're that concerned for him, why haven't you submitted a missing person's report?"

Tony gaped. He opened his mouth, tried to speak, closed it, then tried again. "I'm _Tony Stark_. I'm _Iron Man_. I don't know which of those is actually worse right now! I don't know how you make a random vet going missing a big enough deal to get the coverage to actually find him without tying him back to me. I don't want to put a big fucking target on his back before he even gets to meet me!"

"At least you have that much sense," she said, her eyes softening just a tiny bit. "I'm sorry that I can't help you," she said. "I don't know where Maxwell is. He’s a legal adult by any measure, and unless I suspect they’re a threat, I have no reason to keep track of former agents. I don't even know where to tell you to look. All I can tell you is that if he were dead, we would know."

"That's it? That's all you've got?" he snapped, angry and feeling very justified to be so. "Does he have any other friends I can contact? Can I talk to Sally Po?" 

"You are welcome to speak to Sally if you wish," she said, and to his surprise, left the door and went back around her desk. She picked up her phone, dialed an internal extension, and said, "Sally—do you have a minute to come to my office?" A pause. "Yes, please. Thank you." She hung up. 

"Just like that?"

"Between asking her to come up and you harassing her outside of work, I'd rather deal with this now."

Or she'd rather run interference. Tony kind of wished he'd kept his mouth shut, but too late now. 

They sat in stony silence for a couple minutes before there was a brisk knock. Sally Po entered without waiting to be called. She looked a lot different than he expected—Tony had found pictures of her at press junkets and she had black hair and eyes in those, befitting her Chinese heritage. The woman who entered had the same Asian features, but light blue eyes and dirty wheat-colored hair. It was a little jarring. She'd been young too—older than Une at 28 when she helped begin the Preventers, but that still made her a bare 31. Une had been 20 at the end of the Eve Wars. They were making Tony feel ancient. 

Po opened her mouth, saw Tony, recognized him, and hesitated before saying, "You asked for me?"

"Please come in and shut the door."

She did as bid, coming to stand next to Tony. Her gaze wandered between Tony and Une, and even Tony could read the blatant question on her face. 

"Tony Stark, this is Sally Po, Agent Water. Sally, Mr. Stark has some questions about Duo Maxwell."

The change to Po's body language was startling. Before, she'd been professional but relaxed, curious. At the mention of Duo's name, she winced and tensed, mouth twisting downward in concern. The frown brought out lines that made her look older than she was. Before she said anything, though, she glanced at Une. "Has something happened to Maxwell?" she asked. 

"Not that we're aware of," Une said, calming her visibly. "Mr. Stark is simply looking for him."

"He's my son," Tony said, unwilling to play this game. 

Po stared, and he could see the wheels turning in her head as she decided how to take that news. Finally, she winced, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. "That makes so much sense, it's absolutely terrifying." Tony filed that quip away to better examine later. She looked back up, and said, "I'd ask if you were sure, but you wouldn't be here if you weren't. So, how can I help?"

"I can't find him. Do you have any idea where to look? Any other friends that he might have contacted?" 

Po was shaking her head before he finished asking his questions. "I think Wufei is the only one who has even talked to him in the last year," she admitted. 

"Wufei?" Tony prompted. 

"Chang Wufei. He saw him in New York, oh... last fall? As far as I know, none of his friends have seen or spoken to him since."

New York? Could Duo have really been in his city, under his nose, all this time? "Could he still be there?"

She shrugged. "It's possible." 

"How was he? Was he okay?"

Po put up her hands to stall his questions. "Wufei is on an off-planet right now, but if you really want, I can have him give you a call when he's free. He could answer your questions better than I can."

"Did he say anything about how he was?"

She sighed. "You should speak to Wufei."

Tony nagged, cajoled, pleaded, and wheedled, stopping just shy of threatening, but nothing more was forthcoming from Po. Tony left with Chang's number. 

—

Chang was spectacularly unhelpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought long and hard to figure out how to get Tony in Afghanistan caves during the First Eve War while keeping Cap's history where it is--i could have moved the whole AC timeline to start way earlier than it does in our history or move Cap's story way later. I ended up splitting the difference by cutting 100 years out of the timeline to make it work, but I hope you'll all bear with me since any scenario like this was going to require some serious suspension of disbelief to make these worlds fit if I wasn't just going to yank from one dimension into another. 
> 
> The style of the introduction was inspired by the introduction to most GW episodes, and I even took some of the wording straight from the subtitled version, so if it sounds a little familiar, that's why. I also aged Sally up a little, just because 22 to be a full doctor seemed unreasonable (even if that's what she was according to canon...). EDIT: Fixed Sally's age. I swear I looked it up multiple times, but when I checked it again, Wiki says 27 during GW. That seems much more reasonable. Text updated.
> 
> For anyone wondering about Une's name--I don't know if this is true in the dub, but in the original Japanese, "Lady" is treated as a title rather than a name. She's almost without fail addressed as "Lady Une," which, if Lady is actually her name, is just strange. She's even "Colonel Lady Une" in direct address and always "Lady Une" when she's Peaceful Une. Even for weird anime conventions, addressing someone by their full name all the time is bizarre. The only time anyone addresses her only as "Lady" is when Treize tells her to "Be more elegant, lady", and in that context, it's just as easily reads as a reminder that she's supposed to be a lady as her name. I've read a _lot_ of GW fanfic over the years, but I can't specifically recall anyone treating Lady as her given name. Most, if they deal with her at all, either dodge it or give her an actual name. If memory serves, Anne was the most common given name, so that's what I went with. 
> 
> I'm way better at character than plot, so if you're looking for something really plot heavy... this is not the fic for you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the cuffs lying between them, it felt as if Duo had said, _I'm here because I haven't decided to leave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my darling beta who found a couple little things to tweak for me.

AC 102

A year—it had been over a year since he had learned of his son, and Tony felt no closer to finding him than he had been a year ago. Granted, his search had been interrupted by what the press called the Civil War, the Sokovia Accords, and, just two months ago, reluctantly allowing the ex-vengers back into the Tower. Things were still incredibly tense at home, but Tony was finally able to turn his attention back to finding his son. At this point, he was seriously considering a missing person's report. The only thing that had stayed his hand so long was Chang's scathing rebuke when he mentioned it. Duo Maxwell was a ghost, but his friends weren't... well, Tony couldn't say they weren't worried. They were, but they weren't worried he was dead. That at least, they'd been very sure of.

"Boss—you're going to want to see this," FRIDAY's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Put it up," he said. The screen showed up, displaying breaking news. The ticker announced that cartel boss, Jesus Reyes had been killed in a NYPD operation. But the words of the reporter were lost as Tony locked in on what FRIDAY had wanted him to see. "Rewind it. Blow it up. Make sure," he said, staring.

FRIDAY did as commanded, and there were just a few frames, but it was definitely Duo being led to a police car.

"Get me everything you can on the Kings Cartel, and find out where everyone's being detained. Then call Alistair—tell him to meet me down there," Tony rattled off the directions.

"Tony..." Steve said, hesitating. Things had not been good between them since he'd come back, and Tony had been mostly fixating on finding his son to avoid dealing with him. "If he was arrested—"

"He's my son," Tony snapped, making sure that the cold finality in his words was unmistakable. "I'm going to do whatever I can to help him, no matter what he's gotten into." He didn't say that if he'd known about Duo before, if he'd been in his life, chances of him getting mixed up with a cartel were slim. That the least he could do was help him now.

Before, the uncertainty on Steve's face would have tugged at Tony's heart, but he wasn't going to feel bad for Captain Righteousness right now. Instead he turned his attention to his phone screen, where all the Kings Cartel information FRIDAY could find was beginning to feed. Reyes had been a ghost. There wasn't even a good picture of him. Early reports said they knew they had Reyes because his people had confirmed his identity. If Duo had been with the Kings Cartel the last two years, it was no wonder he'd been so hard to find.

"Do you want backup?" Steve asked, pulling Tony out of his thoughts. It took him a moment to focus on the man, but when he did, he saw the offer was sincere.

"I got this one," he said, not exactly a rejection.

"Call us, if you need us."

Tony gave a vague motion of acknowledgement, but he was already heading down to the garage.

* * *

It was an hour later that he was down at the precinct where all of the Kings Cartel members were being brought in. It took another two hours of his and Alistair's time before they finally convinced the cops that Alistair was Duo’s lawyer and that Duo was there. He apparently hadn’t given his name yet.

The first time Tony laid his eyes on his son in person, it was in a police interview room. Duo was in all black— a suit jacket, a shirt, no tie, the shirt unbuttoned slightly, flashing a bit of black ink in the hollow of his throat. His hair was loose and mussed—probably from being searched, twisted into a long tail over one shoulder. His hands were cuffed in front of him, but he had a foot propped up on his chair, an elbow on it, the other hand loosely wrapped around his leg, unable to do much else with it.

Even in the overbright lighting, his eyes nearly glowed in his face.

The posture was defensive, but his eyes were far away. He'd been staring at a wall when Tony and his lawyer came in, and his gaze wandered to them as if they were neither interesting or important.

“Mr. Duo Maxwell,” the cop said, and Duo’s eyes swung to him, intent. “This guy says he’s your lawyer.”

“Thank you, officer,” Alistair said. “We can take it from here.” He waited for the cops to leave the room, then turned to Duo. "Mr. Maxwell, I'm Alistair Hightower of—"

"I don't need a lawyer," Duo interrupted, dismissing Alistair almost immediately.

"With due respect, Mr. Maxwell," Alistair continued, unphased. He was Tony's best—and he was used to Tony—he wasn't going to be tripped up by Tony's kid. "I think that you rather do."

"It's Reyes-Maxwell, and no, I don't."

That gave Alistair pause, and he glanced at Tony. "As in..."

For the first time, Duo seemed to give them his full attention. He sat up, scooting forward, pushing his hands under the table. There was the clanging of the cuffs, and a moment later, Duo tossed them on the table, open. "That's better," he said, putting his elbows on the table, giving his wrists a brief rub, focusing on Alistair before visibly dismissing him and turning to Tony. "What exactly did I do to merit Tony Stark's personal attention?" he asked.

Alistair had moved back slightly, and Tony didn't blame him. Something about Duo's attention was predatory, the ease with which he'd removed the cuffs was a blatant power move. With the cuffs lying between them, it felt as if Duo had said, _I'm here because I haven't decided to leave._

"This isn't exactly how I wanted to do it," Tony said. He took a deep breath, feeling Duo's eyes on him like a physical weight. "You're my son."

Whatever Duo had been expecting, it wasn't that. He leaned back as if struck, brows furrowed yet eyes wide. Tony pulled out the worn envelope with the DNA results, showing it to Duo before setting it on the table and pushing it across.

Duo didn't take it, staring instead at Tony. "I never submitted my DNA to the FRA database," he said.

"Well, either someone submitted a false one under your name—not sure why anyone would, or someone else did. I've had it verified from six discrete, independent labs—whoever's DNA was submitted under your name is my son. "

Still suspicious, Duo opened the envelope and dug into it. The pages were well-worn, from handling. Tony could probably recite every sentence in the report. To his surprise, Duo flipped past the findings part of the notice to the actual data. The report held a subset of the DNA data—apparently people enjoyed seeing the overlap as some sort of tangible proof, even if they didn't understand the jargon.

Duo's gaze moved over the page quickly before lingering on the image of the overlap for a few seconds. He scowled, folded it back up, stuffed it roughly back into the envelope, then expertly tossed it Tony's way. "I can't deal with this right now," he said, standing up and putting more distance between them.

"Not a mistake?" Tony asked, taking the envelope, though he wasn't sure how Duo would know. Tony hadn't seriously considered that someone had submitted DNA under a false name—especially under a name of someone who had been a ghost since before it had been submitted. Duo may not look like Tony at first brush, but Tony had seen echoes of his mother in Duo's face. In person, that hair in a thousand shades of brown was all hers. And those eyes—they’d looked blue in the images he’d seen; in person they were purple, and he’d seen them before. He didn't remember her name or the exact circumstances of their fling, but if Tony still had any lingering doubt, those eyes erased it.

Abruptly, Duo turned toward them. "You need to leave."

"I've been looking for you for over a year. I'm not going to disappear now."

Duo blinked at him, and Tony could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Something seemed to click, because he hissed—an angry, nearly animal sound. " _Sally_ ," he snarled.

"Sally? Sally Po?" Tony jumped on it.

"It's not important. You need to leave," Duo repeated.

"I think I've been absent enough in your life, don't you?" Tony retorted.

Between one blink and the next, Duo was past Alistair, in his space, lifting him by the lapels of his jacket, slamming him against the door. And holy shit, Tony did not think that someone who was supposedly 5'6" should be able to lift him that easily. Just as quickly as he'd moved forward, Duo dropped him, stepping back, clear to the other corner of the room. Tony just managed to get his feet under him and move out from behind the door as two officers burst in.

"No!" Tony stood between them and Duo. "I'm fine. I'm fine," he calmed them.

"Get them out of here," Duo said, raw command in his voice. It took a moment for Tony to realize he was telling the _officers_ to get Tony and Alistair out.

"We don't answer to you," one officer sneered back.

"I’m handing you the entire Kings Cartel, lock, stock, and barrel—"

"Since your sugar daddy's dead—"

Duo's eyes flashed with barely suppressed rage. As fast as it showed up, it was gone, and Duo pulled out a phone. "I'm over this."

"Where did you get that?" the second officer demanded.

Duo shrugged in Alistair's general direction—and when had he gotten close enough to Alistair to grab it?

"Return that," Alistair said coolly.

"In a minute," Duo said absently as a call connected. He put it on speakerphone and tossed it onto the middle of the table. Tony didn’t doubt he could reach it before anyone else in the room could if necessary.

"Director Une speaking. I don't know how you got this line, but it had better be good."

"Hey, lady," Duo said, the term an endearment and not a title.

There was a pause before Une said, "Maxwell?"

"I’ve got you on speaker, but surely it hasn't been that long since you've heard my lovely voice."

"Confirm—"

"Did Mei get her presents? I thought the rose unicorn was particularly fitting."

The phone picked up the barest breath of a relieved sigh before she was firing off questions. "Where are you? Do you need—"

"I'm currently being held in the 70th Precinct in NYC. Most of the Kings Cartel has been rounded up. Any big players outside of Jesus should have been there. Anyone not there probably doesn't matter, but I'd appreciate it if you tell the kind NYPD officers that putting an undercover agent in with the people he just sold out is probably a bad idea if you're trying to avoid more bloodshed."

"Who is in charge there?" Une demanded.

"Uh, this is Officer Farris. Captain Averson is the lead—"

"Then get me to him, Officer," Une snapped in a tone that Tony knew too well.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Officer?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"If there is one scratch on my agent, there will be hell to pay. Am I clear?"

"I'd love to have my effects back," Duo chimed in.

"I am not arming—"

"Return them. I will clear it with your captain,” Une commanded.

"Yes, ma'am," Farris said, deflated.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Farris scuttled out of the room, and the remaining officer—his uniform said "Dunlap"—turned to Duo. "I don't buy it—that you were undercover."

"That call is way over your head, kid. Get the fuck out of here, and take them with you." Duo pulled the chair out and settled back into it. The fact that the officer was at least five years older than Duo seemed lost on him.

"Just because you got friends in high places—"

"I really wouldn't finish that thought if I were you," Duo interrupted.

Dunlap glowered, glanced at Tony and Alistair. "Come on," he said. "He's probably got Preventer representation coming now. He doesn't need you." He glanced back at Duo. "Even if you were undercover, you shouldn't have been fucking Reyes." Then he leered. "Or should I say, letting him fuck you."

"One. More. Word," Duo said, his voice heavy with threat. "Your badge is the least of what I'll have."

"Think you're that good?"

Duo paused, then asked, "Does the name Darkside mean anything to you?"

Tony knew that Darkside was Duo's Preventers call sign and most Preventers didn't use their actual names in the field. He hadn't thought much of it, other than to be vaguely amused—after all, his partner’s name had been _Force_ —but Dunlap pulled back like he'd been slapped.

"No fucking way."

The grin that Duo sent him was not nice. "The one and only."

“I don’t believe it.”

“Only two broken arms in the entire two hundred—and one severe concussion. My partner had the concussion.”

It didn’t mean anything to Tony, but it did to the officer. "Fuck."

"Now get them out."

Dunlap gave him a long once-over, but nodded, cowed. "Yes, sir," he said, taking Alistair by an elbow and reaching to do the same with Tony. Tony pulled his arm back, ready to fight until he met Duo's eyes.

"I probably have a good thirty-six hours of debriefing coming. I literally cannot deal with you right now."

"When?" Tony asked, uncaring of the desperation he could hear in his own voice.

Duo shrugged. "I'll find you."

" _When_?"

"When I'm ready."

Dunlap took Tony's arm, but he was surprisingly gentle about it.

"Come on, Mr. Stark." He looked over his shoulder, and when he nodded at Duo, it was with genuine respect.

Once in the hall, Tony yanked his arm out of the officer's grip.

"You are going to tell me what that was about," he said. "Why does Darkside matter?"

Dunlap looked at him, thinking—something that clearly wasn't his strong point—then said, "You know the Jackson-Stryker Building?" he asked.

Tony blinked at the non-sequitur. "Doesn't everyone?" he snapped. It had damn near been the World Trade disaster 2.0, less than a year after the Battle of New York. The Jackson-Stryker Building had been bombed, the whole thing coming down. The only thing that saved it from being a tragic loss of life instead of merely an expensive loss were the Preventers that had been disarming it and managed to evacuate almost the entire building and surrounding area before it went. They had managed to get nearly two hundred people into the basement, where they were trapped for four days before they were rescued. The Preventer agents were never publicly named—they almost never were, Preventers in general shied away from individual acknowledgement—but they did a lot of local collaborations and call signs got around. Tony had been recovering from having the arc reactor removed and been told in no uncertain terms he was not allowed to help with anything except logistics. The rest of the Avengers had been scattered, doing their own things at the time.

Wait a fucking minute. " _Darkside_ was one of the Preventers in the Jackson-Stryker Building?" he blurted, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Dunlap nodded, serious. "My cousin's wife was one of the two hundred. She said Darkside was the _only_ one who really kept it together. His partner, Force, took a bad blow to the head. He was incoherent most of those four days. She never told me he was so young, though."

Tony leaned back, letting the wall catch him, before sliding down to the floor, legs weak. His son had been in the Jackson-Stryker Building when it went down—had been instrumental in getting those people to safety, then getting them out.

The timeline clicked together. His partner took a blow to the head. Yuy's amnesia. Duo had nearly died in that building, and he had almost certainly lost his partner there.

Tony stomach twisted, but he fought it down. He’d seen pictures of people getting pulled out of the rubble, knew the location pretty damn well. Duo had—His son could have—

“Mr. Stark?” Dunlap said, sounding like he’d probably said it a few times. Tony blinked and looked at him. He looked surprisingly sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, you were saying?” Tony said, putting his best media face on.

"Every New York cop knows of Darkside," he said softly, then fidgeted.

"What else?" Tony asked.

"Mr. Stark?"

"What else aren't you telling me about Duo?"

"Well..."

"That shit you were saying about him and Reyes... is that true?"

The fidgeting got worse. No wonder the man was still an officer at his age.

"Dunlap—is it true? This is my kid—I need to know."

Dunlap sighed, resigned. "I only know what they're saying."

"Then tell me."

"It might be wrong."

" _Tell. Me_."

Dunlap visibly deflated. "He wouldn’t tell us his name at first, and they're saying lots of bad things about Reyes's... partner... with a lot of other, less diplomatic terms."

"I got that much."

"They're also saying he's more than that. That he was Reyes's..."

Tony set the basket aside and made spinning motion with his hands, indicating Dunlap hurry up.

"... They're saying he’s Reyes's husband."

It took a minute, mostly because Tony didn't want to understand, even though it was all there.

_"It's Reyes-Maxwell."_

"Oh,” Tony said, his voice distant in his own ears. “Thanks for the information.” He clapped the officer on the shoulder.

“I’ll show you out.”

“That’d be… great.” Just great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for the happy-go-lucky god of death in this fic...well, you'll get half of that equation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta. All mistakes are mine (especially if any Spanish ones are made). 
> 
> ~~~
> 
> "Not the monster you imagine," Tony said before he was fully aware of the thought. 
> 
> "He was a monster." A statement and Tony knew the sound of truth in someone’s voice when he heard it. "He earned his reputation. But he wasn't _just_ a monster."

It took two more days of calling in favors and making a general pest of himself, but Tony was allowed to view the body of Jesus Reyes. He wanted to see the man who his son had married with his own eyes.

He knew more about Duo than he had before, but none of it seemed to make sense anymore. He had been an agent—not just an agent, an _exceptional_ agent. Nothing less would have been sent to the Jackson-Stryker Building. He'd been outstanding; then he'd lost his partner. It seemed that was when things started going off the rails, but his file was still paltry. Reading it, Tony would have never imagined Duo as an elite agent, much less one who had been put deep undercover.

So deep that he'd _married_ a cartel lord. It still made Tony’s stomach twist. After two days of thinking about it, he still hadn't decided which would be worse—if Duo had married him out of pure, cold-hearted pragmatism or if he'd actually had feelings for the man. He wondered if Duo would ever tell him the truth. He wondered if he'd ever get the chance to ask.

In the days since his death, more information about Jesus Reyes emerged. He’d been active before the Eve Wars, but he’d grown his influence and empire in their wake as a ghost. People knew of him, not knew him. He’d been, like most of the most successful cartel lords, smart and ruthless. Unlike most of them, he’d been smart enough to operate at least half of the time out of the States. Thousands of deaths were attributed to the Reyes Cartel. Officers had died trying to go undercover with his organization before. How Duo had been chosen to be sent in when he was _nineteen_ , Tony would never understand.

It was evening, so Tony was less conspicuous and the morgue was pretty much dead—pardoning the pun.

The intern escorting him hesitated in the doorway. "Oh, I apologize. I didn’t think you’d still be here,” she said, drawing Tony's attention into the room.

Duo was there, standing over a body, a sponge in his hand. He saw Tony and visibly sighed.

"It's fine—Alice, right?" he asked.

She brightened. "That's right! Do you need me to stay, or—"

"I've got it. I'll make sure he gets out okay."

"Thanks! Have a good evening, Mr. Stark," she said, bubbly and upbeat.

Duo had turned away from him, so Tony strolled in, trying to be nonchalant and probably failing. He wasn't surprised to find Jesus Reyes's body on the table. Duo dipped his sponge again, took a hand, and gently, nearly reverently, bathed the arm. It felt intimate and Tony felt like an intruder, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Well, that was one question answered. This was _not_ something you did for someone you didn't care for, deeply.

"Are you stalking me or does my luck just still suck?" Duo asked, not bothering to look up.

Tony took a moment to take in Duo. His hair was pulled back in a braid today, but something about it seemed lackluster—probably the fact that it was tied off in the middle of his back rather than going all the way to the ends, as if Duo had just given up on it. He was in all black again, this time in a fitted, high-necked quarter-zip, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and black slacks. He wore heavy combat boots. Black and white rings dotted his ears. He wore a black wedding band on his left ring finger.

Here, with his dead husband, grief and exhaustion lined his face, making him look far older than his meager twenty-one years.

"I think I just got lucky this time," he answered Duo's question. Duo didn't flick so much as a glance at him, so Tony felt the need to fill the silence. "I wanted to see the man that my son married myself."

That got a sharp look. "The official story is I got him to adopt me.”

Tony took the opening, no matter how slight. “Will that actually work?” he asked.

“Only three of the people who knew Jesus on sight even survived the shootout. They all knew about us, but it shouldn’t come up. Since we weren’t married under my legal identity, the marriage wasn’t legal. Easy enough to make those records disappear.”

"That’s… good," he said, staring down at Reyes. "Good-looking guy," he added.

Jesus Reyes had been a strikingly handsome man. Even death hadn't detracted much from it. Over six feet and broad shouldered—his build reminded Tony of Steve—and wasn't _that_ uncomfortable? Fortunately, that's where the similarity ended. Reyes had what had probably been a richer skin tone—his Mexican heritage obvious. His hair was longer than Steve kept his, long enough to run hands through, but still acceptably short for a man. Close-cut stubble shadowed his jaw. His hair was damp, so he thought Duo already washed it and trimmed him up, so he probably always had a 5 o'clock shadow. Strong jaw, strong nose, but it suited his face. Tony could imagine him gracing any number of daytime soaps if the right person had gotten their hands on him. Men dreamed of looking like that in their forties.

Tony really wasn't sure if that made Duo's decision to get involved with him worse or better. Duo had literally married a man old enough to be his father. How did his son get to a head space where such a relationship was even acceptable? Had it really all been for the sake of being undercover? Some very superficial part of his heart was relieved at least he wasn't a gross old man, but...

Duo had been undercover for two years. Tony didn't know how much of that he was involved with Reyes for, but he'd been nineteen when they met. What the fuck was Reyes doing with a kid who could reasonably pass for sixteen if he tried?

Then again, Tony probably shouldn't throw stones at glass houses. He always made sure his flings were legal, but man, some of them were definitely _barely_.

Shifting the sponge to his left hand, Duo reached up and caressed Reyes's face with the back of his fingers, a barely-there touch that made Tony _ache_ in empathy.

"I forgot that a lot," he said, not whispering, but voice soft.

"Forgot what?" Tony had lost track of the conversation, wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"That he was gorgeous," Duo admitted. He pried some of Reyes's longer hairs free, winding his fingertips in them, before soothing them back. Abruptly, he pulled back, dropping the sponge back into the tub at his elbow. He pulled the sheet covering Reyes down, baring him to the waist. The gunshot wounds on his chest stood out, marring an otherwise near-perfect physique.

"Shot through the heart?" Tony asked.

"Dead before he hit the ground," Duo confirmed. He picked the sponge back up and began to methodically cleanse his torso. Tony's eyes were drawn to Duo's hands—hands that looked overlarge on his arms. The fingers were long and tapered, the palms broad. The knuckles were rough and bulky, and both his fingers and the backs of his hands were littered with scars. They spoke of work and hardship. They moved efficiently—not a drop of water wasted—but something about the way those large hands virtually cradled the sponge, every action treated as sacred, told of maturity beyond his years.

“No autopsy?”

“No reason to. Cause of death is pretty obvious. No need to remove the bullets.”

Tony watched in silence for a few more minutes before saying, "Tell me about him." Duo paused, eyes raising to Tony's, cautious, searching. "You married the man. I'm going to assume that wasn't in the original plan, and it's obvious that you cared for him. This wasn't a marriage of convenience. Being... involved with him while undercover was one thing, but I can't imagine _marrying_ him has done great things for your reputation or your credibility."

Duo was silent as he set aside the sponge—he was pretty much done with the torso at that point anyway. He took a washcloth and patted Reyes dry, then folded the sheet back up, tucking Reyes in with the care of a loved one. Just when Tony thought that Duo wouldn’t answer, he lifted Reyes's arm, revealing a tattoo along the line of his forearm, leading to his thumb. Tony leaned forward and read, "Gemelo?"

With care, Duo set the arm back down, pressing out the fingers. "It means 'twin.' It's what Jesus called me."

 _Twin_ or _Duo_. It was a bit of a stretch, but Tony could see it. "He really had it bad for you, then." It wasn't quite a question. Duo didn't strike him as the clingy type who would demand a lover get his name tattooed, so that meant Reyes must have decided Duo was important enough to warrant the tattoo. Duo stroked Reyes's fingers as though he couldn't bring himself to stop. Tony couldn’t imagine touching a dead body so reverently, and it could have been creepy, but the touches were emotionally intimate, not physically; Duo knew his chances to touch his husband were vanishing.

"His second complained he was obsessed. He wasn’t wrong, not really. Jesus treated me like there was nothing more important in the world. I think if I'd asked him, he would have walked away from the cartel."

 _Obsessed_ was probably a good word for it if that were true. Rational people didn't just walk away from everything they'd ever worked for over a lover. Tony could see just from that simple explanation, Duo would never have asked him to walk away. It was enough to know that he would, there was no need to make him take the actual step.

"Not the monster you imagine," Tony said before he was fully aware of the thought.

"He was a monster." A statement and Tony knew the sound of truth in someone’s voice when he heard it. Duo raised his hand and ran his fingers through Reyes's hair, and Tony could practically feel Duo's longing. "He earned his reputation. But he wasn't _just_ a monster."

No one, not even Pepper, had ever looked at Tony the way Duo looked at Reyes. "You would have stayed with him," Tony realized. He managed to hold back, _You would never have turned him in._

Duo continued carding his fingers through clean hair. "You don't get involved with a cartel lord expecting a happy ending."

It wasn’t a direct answer, but Tony wasn’t trusted enough to get better. "Why you?" he asked instead.

Duo looked up and tilted his head in query.

"Why did he pick you?"

He shrugged. "I never asked."

"Never wondered?" Tony asked.

"People find me attractive," he said, no trace of arrogance, just simple fact. "Jesus being one of them was... unexpected. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The opportunity was too good to pass up once I realized his interest wasn't casual."

Not wanting to open that can of worms, Tony redirected his questions. "Tell me he was good to you, at least?"

"He adored me," he said. He didn't elaborate or defend, but the silence spoke volumes. Things had not always been rainbows and roses between them. At the minimum, Tony supposed their relationship had tended toward dysfunctional, but the way Duo touched Reyes's body spoke of more good than bad.

Deciding that not only was Duo unlikely to share more on the topic than he already had and that Tony wasn't sure that he was ready to hear more anyway, he changed the subject. "You got anywhere to go tonight?"

Duo blinked up at him, the question not immediately processing. The medical lighting threw the shadows under Duo's eyes into relief. Had he slept at all since Tony had last seen him?

"You said something about thirty-six hours of debriefing, and I assume where you were living before is probably a crime scene. I've got spare rooms—whole spare floors if that's what you want."

He saw it click. "I've got a room," Duo said.

"But do you need to pay for that room when I'm offering you better? For free?"

Duo paused and looked up, his eyes holding far too many years. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"I told you—"

"Not here specifically. Why have you been looking for me? I told you I married a monster—I loved a monster. Normal people aren't okay with things like that. Why are you here?"

Tony's first impulse was to blow off the question, but he hesitated because fatigue and grief seemed to have stripped Duo of whatever masks and walls he probably had under better circumstances. He honestly didn't understand why Tony wanted to know about him. "Because you're my son."

The frustration in Duo's eyes told him that the simple—and _honest_ —answer didn't compute.

"Really," he said, trying to keep Duo from exploding like he had in the interview room. "You're my son, and I didn't have any idea how important you were until I knew you existed. Since I learned about you, though, all I've done is think about you and worry about you. I'm sorry—more sorry than I can ever say—that I wasn't there. But I want to be here now. You're not just a part of me, you're a part of my parents and you're family." He put his hands in his pockets. "I don't know much about you yet, but from what I've seen so far... I'm really hoping you give me a chance."

Duo looked at him like he was crazy before looking back down, studying Reyes's face. Tony fought every fidgety instinct he had, waiting for an answer.

"Okay."

The answer was so soft and unexpected, Tony almost jumped.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Give me ten more minutes," he said, not looking back up.

"Sure," Tony said, trying to keep his excitement from exploding out of his chest. "I'll just... I'll be in the hall. Are you hungry? Have you eaten? I can order something back to the Tower—anything you want." He was rambling. Fuck he was rambling.

"I'm not picky. Don't go out of your way."

"Sure," Tony repeated. "I'll just..." he pointed at the door. Even he knew it was beyond inappropriate to be so excited when Duo's grief was palpable, but he couldn't help it. Duo was going to give him a chance. He couldn't make wrongs right, but maybe they could have something going forward? Maybe they could be a family.

Tony didn’t skip out the door, but it was a close thing.

* * *

Duo waited until the door closed to turn and begin putting things away. He took the bowl and the sponge to the sink, dumping the water, tossing the sponge in the laundry before washing his hands. He felt hollowed out, and Stark was a complication he didn't have the heart to fight. There hadn't been much time to think about the man's revelation the last two days. He may not have been in thirty-six hours of debriefing, but that was mostly because the officers and agents debriefing him had needed a break sooner than Duo had. He could look forward to weeks of debriefings while he told the officers everything he knew about the cartel.

If nothing else, the hours of debriefing and hours more of writing out detailed notes had kept him busy, kept him from thinking about the fact that his husband was dead and other—he wasn’t going there. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Jesus was dead because he had the gall to love Duo. Because Duo couldn’t bargain for him; he'd been too terrible to let live, no matter how much Duo loved him.

He owed Sally something really nice for pulling strings to get him in here to do this. He'd never had the chance to say goodbye like this before, and it was something needed for his own peace of mind.

Duo went back over, going over to the fridge to pull out the drawer Jesus had been in. He then wheeled Jesus's table over. The top was designed to allow a single person to shift it easily, and it moved with surprisingly little effort from the table to the drawer. He hesitated, caressing Jesus's face, even though it was cold and every part of Duo knew that his husband was long gone.

He leaned over and pressed his forehead to Jesus's, closing his eyes tight against tears. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, ignoring the cold air. He cupped Jesus's face a final time, the prick of stubble recalling a thousand other touches, and kissed his forehead. " _Solo tuyo_ ," he promised.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled back and forced himself to push Jesus in and shut the door, shutting away Jesus for the last time. He leaned against the closed door for what must have been at least a couple minutes, willing his body to keep breathing, counting the beats of his heart. It seemed erratic and inconsistent, but he couldn't tell if it was in his head or if it was real.

Finally sure he wasn't going to fall apart on the spot, he straightened. When he did, he noticed that he could see his breath. He'd been distantly aware of the cold, but he thought it was internal. He breathed out again, a little harder, watching the cloud form and dissipate.

"Never again," he said into the silence. It should have echoed in the sterile, industrial environment, but it died almost as soon as the words were spoken. "I know Jesus had to die. Consider him my sacrifice. But he _will_ be the last."

The world grayed out, and something more than silence settled over the room. Duo could sense it listening, could sense its agitation. It was beyond ancient, vast beyond human comprehension, but it had chosen Duo, and it would _listen_ , dammit.

"I'm not playing this time," Duo said. "I will not lose anyone else. I swear by the Church and my name, if I even _think_ you may have taken someone, anyone I care about even a _millisecond_ before their time, I will stop at _nothing_ to kill myself."

The world vanished. He should have no perception of where he was within it, he couldn't hear anything, see anything, feel _anything_ , but something deeper told him where he was, which direction he faced.

"Do you understand?" he asked, the words dying before they reached his ears. It was an odd sensation, but Duo ignored it and continued on; he knew it was listening. "I want your word, your promise that you will not take anyone else from me— _especially_ not like _him_."

No words, but a life cycle flashed across his mind, processed in less than a blink. Death was part of life. It could not be suspended at Duo's will.

"I know. I will lose people, but not before their time. I know your touch. I know when you have tipped the scales. Solo, the Church, Jesus.” He swallowed before he said the name that cut deepest. “ _Heero_. Your word that it won't happen again."

A feeling of threat and anger roiled around him, slinking like some great apex predator Duo had no name for. It snarled and growled in fury, reminding Duo of the rush of air as it was pulled from an airlock.

"Your word," he demanded, refusing to be cowed.

It roared at him, a not-sound like the concussion of a powerful explosion, but he wouldn't stand down. This was non-negotiable.

"If you will not give me your word, then release me. I will not serve a selfish god."

The world shuddered and trembled as if a massive earthquake had hit, forcing Duo to try to regain his balance though he had absolutely no reference points. He banged his elbow into the unforgiving door behind him, and the world returned in a rush. An overhead light sparked and fizzed out, and Duo hissed at the static that jumped from the metal doors to him. It jumped down his arm and seemed to linger in the palm of his right hand before vanishing. Duo looked down at his hand, eyes finding one of his oldest scars. Faded, Duo still knew where it was, still felt it ache when it stormed—ache in a way that none of his other wounds did. He rubbed at the small scar and felt an acknowledgement in his soul.

_**My word.** _

Satisfied but weary to the bone, Duo grabbed his go bag from where he had left it under a table and slung it over his shoulder. He was about to head to the door when a bag of effects caught his eye. He detoured to it, ignoring the wallet and pulling out Jesus's wedding ring. It was bright yellow gold with a white gold braided inlay. The symbolism had never been lost on Duo.

He remembered the first time Jesus had shown it to him; Duo had deftly stolen it, amused at how _big_ the damn thing had been—and Duo's hands weren't small. It had fit Duo's thumb, mostly because his knobby joint kept it in place.

Duo slid the ring onto his right thumb. He had to force it past the knuckle, just as he remembered, but once there, the weight was noticeable but not uncomfortable. He ran his index finger over the texture of the braid, remembering watching Jesus play with it. As Jesus's spouse, his effects should eventually come to Duo anyway, but accepting them would probably be frowned on—if they weren't outright confiscated. He flexed his hands and his thumb, twisting them, testing his movement and dexterity. Though heavy, it moved enough that it didn't inhibit his range of motion.

He resealed the bag, not bothering to note the missing ring—someone would notice it or not.

Resettling his go bag, Duo walked to the door, pausing only to dim the lights on his way out.

He didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I wouldn't beg for feedback (though it's always appreciated). I love this chapter, and I would love to know what other people think of it. 
> 
> Also--if the description of Duo's age seems inconsistent, there's a reason for that. It's not a mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you in any danger, for, you know…”
> 
> “Betraying a cartel?” Tony turned to look back at him, surprised by the wry tone. “Not much.”
> 
> “Not much? That seems like something that people usually worry about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my lovely beta who finds the little things that need to be tweaked.

Tony looked up as soon as the door opened, putting his phone away. Raising an eyebrow at the bag Duo had slung over his shoulder, he asked, “Ready to go?”

“Lead the way,” Duo said.

Looking down, Tony realized how short he was. Duo’s file had—rather generously—listed him as 5’6.” Standing next to him, Tony thought he was 5’5” at best—those combat boots he was wearing definitely gave him a bit of a lift, and he still didn’t quite reach Tony’s shoulder. 

“Do we need to stop anywhere—”

Duo shifted the bag. “Dunlap went by Jesus’s brownstone and grabbed my go bag. I’m good for now.”

 _Go bag._ His son had a go bag. Deciding not to focus on that right now, Tony said, “I’m surprised they’re just letting you walk around without any sort of protection or supervision.” 

He had to look back where Duo followed a half step behind him. “Une vouched for me,” he replied shortly. 

“That simple? Une vouched and everyone just lets you walk around without supervision?”

He heard Duo sigh. “She wouldn’t call it simple. But yes.”

“Are you in any danger, for, you know…”

“Betraying a cartel?” Tony turned to look back at him, surprised by the wry tone. “Not much.”

“Not much? That seems like something that people usually worry about.”

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about inviting that sort of threat into your home?” 

Tony snorted. “It’s _Avengers_ Tower now, thanks. No offense, but it’s a bit above a cartel’s weight class. Even if they, by some miracle, get through my security, they have to deal with the actual Avengers.” He paused, then added, “But I’d like to be able to give the team a heads up if they should expect it.”

“Jesus’s second is the only one with enough authority to put a hit on anyone with Jesus out of the picture. Even if he weren’t currently in solitary, he wouldn’t bother.”

“Wouldn’t bother?” Tony turned around and kept walking backward so he could look at Duo. “Have a soft spot for you?”

“Fuck no,” was the instant reply. “He hates me, but he’s not stupid. He knows that the Kings were never going to survive losing Jesus. He’s not petty enough to put a hit on me just because he’s pissed about how it fell apart.”

In Tony’s experience, most bad guys were exactly that petty, but maybe this guy would want personal revenge? Either way, Duo was obviously not concerned. Even if he weren’t, the cops should have been. Tony was grateful Duo had agreed to stay with him since Avengers Tower really would be one of the safest places for him to be. 

“Elevator,” Duo said, just in time for Tony to stop before his back collided with the door. 

“I knew that,” he said, hitting the button. He thought in better circumstances, Duo may have been amused, but it seemed to take too much energy at the moment. “Any plans for tomorrow?” he asked as the door dinged open. 

“More debriefing and strategy, I’m sure.” They stepped in, and Tony hit the button for the garage.

“They’re not going to include you in any apprehensions, are they?” Tony asked, alarmed. 

Duo shook his head, leaning against the wall in the elevator, looking like he was still upright by sheer will. They arrived at the garage, and Duo pushed himself off the wall, following Tony out.

“When was the last time you slept?” Tony had to pay a bit more attention in the garage, and it looked like Duo’s attention sharpened too, the exhaustion shedding like a coat. “Happy’s this way.”

“Happy?” Duo asked, his eyes moving around the garage, assessing, reminding Tony uncomfortably of Natasha. 

But he’d asked a question! “Happy is my bodyguard… and my chauffeur.” 

“ _You_ have a bodyguard?” 

Another question! The first signs that Duo had any curiosity about him. If Tony suspected they were less about Tony and more about Duo understanding his situation, well, he’d take what he could get. 

“I wasn’t always Iron Man, you know. Without the suit, I’m still just a man.”

Duo didn’t comment, but his expression suggested skepticism, which pleased Tony more than it should have. 

“Mr. Stark,” Happy greeted as they came up on him. 

“Happy,” Tony smiled, thankful for someone who would be unquestioningly in his corner. “This is my son”—and didn’t it give him butterflies to say that?—“Duo Reyes-Maxwell.” He reached to put his hand on Duo’s shoulder, but Duo subtly dodged out from under it. “Duo, Happy Hogan.”

Happy put out his hand. “It’s so nice to finally get to meet you, Mr.—”

Duo took the hand, shook it quickly, then stepped back, but not before he interrupted, “Duo. Just… Just Duo.”

He didn’t offer any of the usual courtesies, and Tony could appreciate the irony of feeling a little miffed since he so rarely observed them himself. 

Happy barely missed a beat, repeating, “Duo,” seeming to understand that the informality would be sincerely appreciated. He opened the back door. “Allow me.”

Duo motioned for Tony to go first. Tony hid a sigh but got in. Duo followed him, pausing in the doorway, eyes scanning, before he followed and sat down across from Tony—literally as far as he could in the confined space. Happy closed the door, and they were silent as he went around and got in the front. 

“We’re only about twenty minutes from the Tower at this time of night,” Tony assured. 

Pressed into the corner, the energy and awareness he’d shown bled away, leaving him looking pale, small, and fragile, attention directed out the window. Tony didn’t like it at all. “You never answered me before—when was the last time you slept?”

“I’ve napped.”

“I can tell you from experience, that doesn’t count.”

Duo shrugged but didn’t look at him. Tony floundered. He could almost always fill a silence, but Duo _meant_ something, and he was giving Tony nothing to work with. 

“Look, can you just save twenty questions? The last four days have been absolute shit, and I haven’t had ten minutes to even begin processing your bombshell, much less figure out how I feel about it.”

Tony blinked, taken aback. Duo had consumed so much of his energy and thoughts for the last year, it hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t have the same effect on Duo. What orphan _wouldn’t_ be happy to find out they had family? Duo apparently. Or maybe it was because it was _Tony_? Was that the issue? 

Before he could say anything, a ringtone interrupted. Duo about jumped out of his skin, before reaching into his pocket. He glanced at the number, sighed, and answered. “This must be a new record. I’ve had this phone for less than four hours, and I thought the only people who had the number were associated with the case,” he said, but some tension went out of him—tension Tony hadn’t even noticed. Whoever he was talking to was safe. 

He was quiet as he listened to the other person, and it took more self-control than Tony wanted to admit to not to have FRIDAY hack the phone—a cheap little pay-as-you-go POS—and find out who was on the other end of the line. “You have way more important things to worry about than me. I’ll be fine.” His eyes softened, different from how he had looked at Reyes, but whoever was on the phone was a close friend. “I’m going to be wrapped up in this fallout for weeks anyway. I can’t be babysitting you too.” He smiled as he said it, a small one, but the tone was fond and teasing. 

Even the small smile erased years from his face, reminding Tony that he was twenty-one. According to his file, he wouldn’t be twenty-two for another almost nine months. God, he was barely more than a kid. Tony would bet that with minimal effort, he could still pass for sixteen. Next time he spoke to Une, they were going to have a serious discussion about appropriate resource allocation—you don’t send _nineteen-year-olds_ under deep cover. He wasn’t like Peter, who at least had superpowers to keep him safe. 

“I promise, at least once a day, and you don’t send your clown to keep an eye on me—any of them.” He paused again, and then the smile grew. “I’m not doing that. And just try coming down, buttercup. I’ll tell Dot—I’m sure she’d be willing to run interference for me. You know she likes me best.” Tony heard the indignant squawk from where he was sitting. “Yeah, I know. Talk to you tomorrow.”

He ended the call without saying goodbye. 

“Good friend?” Tony asked when it was clear that Duo wasn’t going to comment on the call. 

“One of the best.”

Tony sighed and settled in for the drive. Hopefully Duo would be more open to talking once he’d had some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this is going to basically be an emotional slow burn? If you're expecting Duo to suddenly just get over his trauma and let Tony into his heart... this may not be the story for you. That stuff takes time when you have trust issues.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world grayed further; sound began to fade. 
> 
> Someone was talking to him, but Duo couldn’t hear the words.
> 
> No, it wasn’t that he couldn’t hear. 
> 
> It was that Shinigami didn’t understand.

Duo probably would have been more impressed with the Tower in general had Quatre Winner not been one of his best friends. He was used to the over-the-top opulence of Quat’s homes, bearing generations of antiques and dripping with fortunes’ worth of detail-work and craftsmanship. The Tower, in comparison, was downright humble. Stark had a cleaner, more modern aesthetic, and although the workmanship and material qualities were second to none, it didn’t give Duo that same sense of _I do not belong here_ that Quat’s homes sometimes did.

Living with Jesus for two years had probably also increased his comfort with overt wealth. Jesus tended toward Stark’s more subtle displays—spending money on quality rather than splash—so really, there was nothing there to be intimidated by.

Stepping off the elevator to be faced with what appeared to be the entire Avengers roster, on another day, would have either been intimidating or made his inner prankster cackle with glee at the sheer potential. After four days with maybe a collective five hours of sleep, Duo was just done. Jesus— _his husband_ —was dead. Knowing that Jesus _had_ to die, _expecting_ it helped far less than Duo hoped. Jesus had been a monster—he’d been ruthless, brutal, quick to spread his wrath and retribution to bystanders, innocents, and guilty alike. Duo may have helped curb some of his more vicious impulses over the last two years, but Jesus was Jesus. He was the lord of one of the most feared and vicious cartels in decades. You didn’t get to where he was and hold it with absolute authority without being a monster. And yet…

And yet… he had loved Duo. Had adored him.

_“I would tear down the world for you.”_

The devotion was humbling, terrifying, and addicting. It was what allowed him to stay Jesus’s hand so often, blunt his harshest edges.

He’d been too dangerous, too cruel to let live, but Duo would have given _anything_ right about then to be able to climb into his arms and let him deal with the world.

Now there was Tony Stark, claiming to be his father. Now he stood in front of the full assortment of Avengers.

He could not fucking deal with this today.

“Really? Was this _really_ necessary?” Stark demanded, exasperated.

“Well, you did say you were bringing him home?” a woman with chin-length red hair said. Duo recognized her, but from where was eluding him at the moment. He tried to blink away the exhaustion because his memory failing was never a good sign.

Black Widow. Natasha Romanov. See? He did know.

“Yes, I told _Rhodey_. What’s everyone else’s excuse?”

Conscious effort was becoming required just to keep his eyes open. The fifty people who suddenly wanted an introduction were going to have to wait. “If you can just point me in the direction of the nearest bed, that’d be great,” he said before it could continue on. The tension he could sense despite his exhaustion was going to give him a headache in about thirty seconds if he didn’t leave.

A girl who was probably close to his age stepped up, looking concerned, and even if Stark hadn’t stepped between them, Duo would have been immediately on high alert. Just meeting her eyes made the world gray as Shinigami rose up.

He could _not_ let Shinigami out right now. The minute it receded, he’d be out cold. Not. Acceptable.

“You—” she started to say.

“Just back off,” Stark warned her, and Duo distantly registered the hard undertone in his voice. He blinked the world back into full-colored clarity.

“Bed?” he asked again, beating down the urge to rub his eyes. There was no way he was taking his sight off this group.

Stark turned back to face him. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat—”

“I’m really not hungry,” he said, and he wasn’t. He didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t experience hunger like normal people. Dubious benefits for the win? Duo knew he should eat. He’d been given some food to tide him over in the past few days, but he knew he hadn’t eaten enough of it. He also knew he wasn’t going to hang around here to eat with every single one of his internal _threat_ alarms going crazy.

“They can’t have been feeding you—”

“Stark,” he interrupted again, and Stark reacted to his last name like he’d been slapped. Duo couldn’t be assed to care. He was there because Jesus would have wanted him to be—Jesus had cared about blood. He was also there because he was too fucking exhausted to have the battle he was sure would be required to make Stark accept “no” as an answer. The guy didn’t get it, and Duo wasn’t explaining right then. “Really, I just want a bed.” _And a door that locks please. I’m still healing—_

He cut the thought off.

Seriously though, if he didn’t get out of this room in the next two minutes, either Shinigami was going to make an appearance—which would be _bad_ —or he was going to have to leave. Already he could feel that primal thrum under his skin, richness seeped from colors as Shini coiled in his mind, waiting, ready, _eager_ even. Jesus may have been a sacrifice, but Duo’s hand hadn’t dealt the final blow. He hadn’t killed anyone in months, and the stress of the last four days had awakened Shini, bringing it far too close to the surface. His hands itched for a blade, wanted to lash out, wanted to stare someone in the eyes as their life bled out at his hands…

The world grayed further; sound began to fade.

Someone was talking to him, but Duo couldn’t hear the words.

No, it wasn’t that he couldn’t hear.

It was that Shinigami didn’t understand.

Using the very last of his reserves, Duo clawed control back and turned to Stark. “A bed, or I can go back to my hotel.” Ignoring the fact that Duo was almost certain he didn’t have the energy to leave even if he wanted to now. The only way he was walking out was under Shini’s power. That would probably put a quick end to this “family” experiment, which was not the worst idea he’d ever had—

“No!” Stark blurted. “This way,” he added, reaching out, then hesitating. After a moment, he dropped his hand without touching Duo. So he wasn’t entirely devoid of self-preservation instincts. Wonderful.

Duo’s vision swam as he turned, and he had a moment to think _oh, that’s a bad sign_ , before the world reoriented. He lost time before he realized Stark had him by the shoulders.

Upgrade to _very bad sign_.

“Okay, no more deflecting—how many hours have you slept in the last four days?” Stark asked as Duo leaned on him heavily to straighten.

“Four? Five?”

Wait, he knew that look. That look was _how are you still standing?_

Miniature Wing Zeroes and Deathscythes started a conga line on Stark’s shoulders, and wow, that was kind of adorable.

Oh, he was hallucinating now.

“Okay, kiddo, definitely bedtime,” he heard Stark say.

_Hey, I understood that!_

“Comprehending your native language is good,” Stark agreed, looping one of Duo’s arms over his shoulders, and shit, he had apparently said that too. He wasn’t going to be conscious for much longer. He could feel himself starting to fade already. Keep talking—must keep _talking_.

“I’ve been speaking Spanish almost exclusively for the past two years, so to be fair, that I haven’t started speaking with a Spanish accent is impressive, and I am so fucking tired, I’m a little surprised I can still speak English at all,” Duo babbled. “I mean, I’m even speaking in dirtside standard, which, news flash, isn’t actually my native language because I’m a _colonist_.”

“Is he okay?” one of Stark’s friends asked, looking concerned.

“I think the sleep deprivation just hit hard,” Stark said. “That’s more than he’s said since I found him at the morgue.”

Duo started giggling. “You found me at the morgue,” he said, then the laugh spilled over into full belly laughs, because, really—Stark had found _Death_... “You found… me… at the morgue!”

“Don’t look at me,” Stark said. “I don’t get it.”

“Did you know that since space is infinite and the universe is expanding, that as space expands, it’s literally creating spacetime itself in order to be able to expand?”

Someone laughed. “Leave it to your kid to expound on the nature of the universe when he’s slap happy and sleep deprived. He’ll be a riot to get properly roasted.”

“Roasted pastries are kinda awesome. Did you know you can mostly substitute coconut oil one-to-one for butter when baking? I’ve got a friend who didn’t like baked goods because he’s _way_ lactose intolerant. That was such a fucking shame, looked into butter substitutes. Coconut oil was the best, though it’s kinda finicky. And it’s terrible for puff pastry. The melting point is just way too low. I figured out an olive oil and coconut oil emulsion that worked though. Still super temperamental, but it worked!”

“Viz, do you mind—”

“I’ve got him,” someone said, lifting Duo into a bridal carry. He yelped in surprise, but the vague scent of cleaning oil and blood washed over him, and, oh…

Somewhere his brain told him that it couldn’t be Jesus, but that part of his mind was silenced as the sense of safety sent him straight into sleep.

* * *

Tony’s heart about jumped into his throat at the sight of his son in Barnes’s arms.

Duo had yelped in surprise, but settled, closing his eyes, and relaxed into sleep like someone had flipped a switch.

Tony stared for a good minute, furious that Barnes had dared touch his son and hurt that Duo had seemed to trust him enough to fall asleep in his arms. The big—

“Oh,” Tony said, surprise causing him to blurt. “You’re about the same build as Reyes was.” Barnes blinked at him, and he explained, “His husband. You’re about the same build as his husband was.”

“So he was really married to Reyes?” Bruce asked, looking at Duo. In Barnes’s arms, he looked small and far too young to be a widower.

Tony nodded. “I wanted to see Reyes for myself, so I got approval to see him in the morgue. Duo was there—bathing the body.”

Natasha and Steve exchanged glances.

“That’s… very intimate,” she said, careful to keep any judgement out of her voice.

Tony sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets, eyes on Duo. “Duo loved him,” he said, his own voice soft as he acknowledged it. Asleep, with no guard up, the shadows under his eyes looked like bruises. “Hey, Maximoff—stay the fuck out of his head,” he added.

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” she said, offended.

“I shouldn’t have to have told you once,” he snapped back before realizing something in her tone was off. “Wait, why don’t I need to tell you twice?”

She was quiet for a moment, looking pensive. She looked at Duo again, and this time Tony saw a hint of fear in her eyes. Why? He hadn’t even spoken to her. Tony didn’t think she’d had time to truly touch his mind. “There’s something…” she began. “Something…” she trailed, frustrated, shaking her head. “I don’t have the words for it, but something… Something I don’t want to touch.”

Tony wanted to simply ignore her fear, wanted to believe she was overreacting, but he’d seen Duo go distant for that heartbeat, seen his eyes darken, felt—just for a moment—his heart skip a beat. For a few instants, Duo had looked _through_ him, like he was less than a bug; then he had seemed to shake himself, and the babbling had started.

Tony wanted Maximoff to be wrong, but he wasn’t sure she was.

“Just stay out of his head,” he repeated. “Let’s get him to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have posted a spoiler for [ if Stand will be 1x2](https://angelselene.tumblr.com/post/635503158894952448/will-stand-without-flinching-be-1x2) on my Tumblr for those of you who have to know
> 
> The thing about coconut oil working 1:1 for butter is true. I've got a kid with a milk allergy that's a nightmare, so coconut oil is my preferred butter substitute. I found a puff pastry recipe that supposedly works with an emulsion of coconut and olive oil, but I never bothered to try it. Too much work for too good of a chance that allergic-to-life kid wouldn't try it. 
> 
> One thing of note--I'm not a basher. People are complex and they have complex motivations, and I'm not jumping on the "[insert character] is awful" train. I don't plan on having any strawmen running around in this fic (except maybe Hydra mooks at some point).


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Amnesia— _real_ amnesia, it’s not like the crap you see in movies. Once you lose those memories, they’re gone. The brain isn’t a hard drive that you can recover deleted files from."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My amazing beta got me this chapter back early, and I was going to hold onto it, but it's been a shitty day so hopefully I can help make some people smile.

Heero was enjoying the early onset of spring by camping out on one of the lawns outside St. Paul’s Chapel. He wasn’t religious, but he found the chapel comforting. Sitting on Columbia’s untouched campus, it was easy to forget the Battle of New York had ever happened. The peace and beauty of the day were proving distracting, but he couldn’t feel too bad about it. 

“There you are!” a bright, exuberant voice exclaimed. “And without your female half for a change.”

“Oliviana is actually meeting me for lunch in,” he lifted his wrist and checked the time, “about twenty minutes.” The sleek black leather and red gold accents still seemed odd on his wrist, but the watch had been a Christmas gift from Oliviana’s father. A quick search for the brand— _Blancpain_ —told him he did not want to know how much it cost. He did not trust Oliviana’s indifferent “not _that_ expensive.” After nearly three years of dating, he didn’t think he’d ever convince Oliviana that her definition of “reasonable gift” varied from the average by a wide margin. 

“Well, then,” Hilary Kincaid plopped down in his lap—Heero narrowly moving his book out of the way—then propped an elbow on Heero’s shoulder and rested his chin on laced fingers, batting his eyes outrageously. “I guess I have twenty minutes to convince you to come to the dark side.”

Heero rolled his eyes but smiled. “You know I’m a one-woman man.”

“But it’s such a waste to reserve all this”—he unlaced a hand to motion broadly at Heero—“for one woman.” 

“I dare you to say that where Liv can hear you.”

Hilary gasped, theatrical as was his wont, then gave Heero wounded eyes. “You would not sic that harridan on me, would you, Heero?” He drew out Heero’s name in a whiny way that he knew got under his skin. Heero goosed him in the side, succeeding in both getting a yelp and getting Hilary off his lap. He quickly folded a leg up so Hilary couldn’t reseat himself. Hilary glared down at him, rubbing his side as if Heero had done more than goose him. 

“I’m telling her you called her a harridan.”

“You wouldn’t!” Hilary looked aghast, but Heero didn’t buy it. He’d been friends with Hilary too long at this point to take him seriously. 

“She’s my fiancée. We have no secrets,” he said, enjoying Hilary’s overdramatic reaction. 

“For the record, I maintain that telling each other everything is unhealthy. A woman should have her secrets.”

“You are still not a woman,” Heero reminded, because although Hilary reveled in being as camp as possible in his personal life, he wasn’t actually trans.

“I’m a very glittering gay darling, darling,” Hilary said haughtily, playing injured pride to the hilt. “That makes me at least 40% female-minded.”

Heero shook his head, but he was grinning. “If you say so.”

Hilary sniffed, tossing his head, making his raven-black bangs swoop back dramatically. Heero would never tell him—he’d never hear the end of it if he did—but he did think Hilary was rather pretty, from an aesthetic standpoint. Intense green eyes glowed from a warm chestnut complexion, a mark of his biracial heritage. He had cheekbones, eyelashes, and lips that more than one of Heero’s female friends—Oliviana included—would kill for. He never wondered how Hilary could pick up a new fling seemingly every other day. 

“You know I don’t usually do ladies, but with you and Liv, I’d make an exception.”

“And again, we appreciate your gracious offer but must decline,” Heero said, giving up on the book and closing it. 

“Are you sure you don’t have any bi-curious bones in that gorgeous head of yours?” Hilary asked, more serious than usual. He gave the ground a final suspicious look before seating himself delicately next to Heero. “I mean, you don’t _remember_ , so it’s not like you can say you’ve never taken a trip on the other side of the tracks.” 

“I’m really not interested in anyone but Liv,” Heero assured. 

Hilary threw his head back. “I suppose that bitch does have hair that’s to die for,” he said it grudgingly, as if he and Oliviana hadn’t been best friends since childhood. 

“How many of her boyfriends have you seduced away from her?” he asked, suddenly curious. 

“Darling, why is that even a question? You know the answer is all of them except you,” he said. 

“All of them?”

“Yes, Heero, my beautiful mystery, _all of them_. You forget that before you, Liv and I swore we were never going to do the monogamy thing. She broke that promise, for the record. It’s a sin that she won’t share you.” Heero gave him a pointed look and he sighed, put upon. “So, maybe she always had monogamist leanings,” he conceded, as if the truth pained him. “The social pressure to get married to the right type of person and keep your flings out of the nosy pages is strong, if nothing else. But Liv is who she is. Lots of people want her for her name more than for her, so I had carte blanche to try to seduce anyone she was considering monogamy with. Until you, they all failed.” He gave Heero a honest look. “Don’t you ever wonder, though?”

“Wonder what?”

“Who you were? If you had anyone?”

“Trying to remember anything before my accident gives me migraines so bad, I sometimes throw up for hours, so… no. Not really.”

“But like, there must have been people there. You’re…” he trailed off, uncharacteristically serious. “You’re special, Heero. You know I like pulling your chain, but Liv did date a lot of guys, and you’re different. I’m doing a terrible job of explaining, but from the first time Liv told me about you, I knew you were different. You don’t care about her money. You weren’t even all that into her when you met.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t into anyone.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave Heero’s arm a punch that was more like a fistbump. “But I mean it. You’re solid… grounded. You get the real world, but you still believe in the good in people. If I were ever in a crisis, I feel like if you were there, everything’d be fine.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You lost your memory in the Jackson-Stryker Building. I don’t think you get a vote. Pretty sure it’s proof that you were a real-life hero.” 

“Are you saying I’m wasting my potential going to law school?”

Hilary rolled his eyes. “Of course not. You want to be a defense attorney, so you totally still have that saving people gene that probably lead you to be a Preventer once upon a time. I just find it hard to believe you didn’t have people.”

Heero sighed, focusing on the days recovering and avoiding thoughts of before being in that hospital. “I did,” he admitted. “But I didn’t remember them. And I wasn’t who they remembered. I didn’t want them to keep looking at me like I was going to magically be the guy they knew before. It felt like staying would have just… hurt us all.” He shrugged. “So I left and decided to figure out what I wanted to do with the new life I had.”

“Don’t you ever… regret that?”

“No,” Heero said, firm, because it was true. “Amnesia— _real_ amnesia, it’s not like the crap you see in movies. Once you lose those memories, they’re gone. The brain isn’t a hard drive that you can recover deleted files from. The doctors were really worried that my amnesia wouldn’t be limited to the retrograde loss—for months I couldn’t remember the people who came to visit me after they left. I wasn’t sure I’d be _able_ to form new memories. I feel like I got a second chance. Trying to be that guy—whoever he was—wouldn’t have been fair to any of us.” He bumped Hilary’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have what I have now if I hadn’t made that choice. I might not have all those childhood memories. I also don’t have all those horrible high school memories. But I do have a whole life to make new ones.”

“And I intend to spend a lifetime making them with you,” Oliviana said, wrapping her arms around Heero’s neck from behind. He’d sensed her coming up a minute ago, so he wasn’t surprised, but Hilary about jumped out of his skin. Heero laughed and unfolded his legs as Oliviana came around to take her rightful place on his lap, like a queen, as if she knew Hilary had tried to usurp her spot. Knowing Liv, she probably did. 

“I have lunch for us,” she held up a bag.

“Milano Market?” Heero grinned. “You do love me.”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, leaning up to get a kiss. “You better believe it.” He slipped a hand behind her neck, using it as an excuse to tangle his fingers in her hair, then pulled her back in for another kiss. 

“Stop before the straight cooties get on me!” Hilary protested, sounding so aggrieved that they had to break apart to laugh. 

“He’s just jealous,” Oliviana said in a low tone, as if she were telling Heero a secret, her brown eyes bright with mirth. “I’m not sharing.”

“Good, because I don’t share either,” Heero told her before dipping her to lay another dramatic kiss on her… and maybe to get that yell of outrage out of Hilary. 

Or maybe just to kiss her. Kissing her was good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s on your mind?” Steve asked. 
> 
> “The kid, actually,” Bucky admitted, and Steve glanced at him, seeing his brows furrowed. “When he finds out what I did, what happens if he wants me gone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Blame my (amazing, wonderful, sometimes forgetful) beta for finding something that was broken then forgetting to tell me I fixed it successfully. The delay ended up giving us an extra scene though.

"You are mine," Jesus murmured as he closed the distance slowly. "My Gemelo. Forget Twain Randolph." He said the alias with disgust, as if it were offensive. "Forget Duo Maxwell. Just be my Gemelo." This time, it was Jesus's words that tickled Duo's lips.

And he _wanted_ that. The need was sharp and sudden and fierce. That aching void could be filled by the man before him. If only Duo let him.

With a surge, Duo closed the distance between them. His knife clattered to the floor as his arms rose of their own accord to clutch Jesus to him. They kissed, deep and searching, hard and demanding, tapering to kisses so tender, Duo could feel tears prickle the back of his eyes. As Jesus moved to lave his throat, he had to know, "I'll be yours? Your only one?" It was breathy and needy, and if he hadn't been such a mess, he'd be embarrassed it came from him.

"My only," Jesus confirmed between kisses and nips.

"And you'll be mine?" That question came from the void, but it needed to be asked.

A sharp bite just below and behind his ear startled a gasp from him that nearly covered Jesus's murmured response. _Solo tuyo._

_Only yours._

* * *

Duo woke with a gasp, the memory of his first night with Jesus fresh enough, he half expected to find the bruises that encounter had left. He sat up and pulled his sleeves back, checking his wrists and forearms—no bruises there, just the usual manacle scars, barely visible against colony-pale skin.

He rubbed his face, still tired, but head clearer than it had been in days. He glanced over and saw that the clock on the side nightstand read 4:57. Judging by the darkness beyond the blinds, that was a.m., which meant he’d slept some seven-ish hours. He thought he’d passed out a bit after eight the night before.

There was no going back to sleep after that dream—that memory. He was honestly surprised he’d slept as long as he had, his first time really sleeping since Jesus had died.

Then again, he’d driven himself to his absolute limit of exhaustion. He needed more sleep, but he had enough to function for another day or two even if he were a bit more irritable and less personable than usual.

Not that he’d been particularly personable the last few days, or even last few years. Jesus had been possessive as all fuck. He did not encourage or enjoy Duo being friendly with anyone that wasn’t him. Duo was a bit out of practice, and the NYPD cops weren’t helping.

Duo hated cops. They mistrusted him, his information, his history, his fucking competence. He was used to being underestimated, and being with Jesus, he’d grown used to being thought of as arm candy. It amused Jesus to no end that people didn’t think Duo was a threat. The reason he’d first been intrigued by Duo was because of the disparity between his appearance and how dangerous he actually was.

Fuck, he missed Jesus, but it wasn’t like when he’d lost Heero; even now, Duo didn’t think anything would ever trump that particular pain. Right now, it ached like a missing limb, but he could already sense that there was life again beyond Jesus, maybe because he’d expected that this day would come.

It had taken falling in love with Jesus to see life beyond Heero. It seemed only fitting that it would take Jesus dying to imagine life beyond them both.

He reached up and dipped his fingertips under the collar of his shirt to trace Jesus’s name on his neck, its placement ingrained even if it was too well-healed to find by touch. The tattoo was smaller than Jesus had originally wanted—low enough on his neck to be hidden under a collared shirt. Duo had vetoed any ink that didn’t have the option of being covered if he needed it. A massive neck tattoo would be more memorable than Duo wanted to be. He was memorable enough on his own. For a moment he wished it was big, screaming to the world that he had been Jesus Reyes’s.

It would have made working with the task force dealing with the Kings cleanup about ten times worse though. Probably for the best he’d refused.

With a sigh, Duo slung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was still in his clothes, which he appreciated. He was glad no one had stripped him of more than his shoes while he’d been as good as unconscious. He also found his bag on the floor, and reached out to drag it over. It was heavier than it looked, but Duo was used to its weight. When he opened it, it looked undisturbed. He shifted the clothes and toiletries aside to check the hidden compartments. Looked like no one had searched it—if they had, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t have left the C4 blocks in it.

Resettling the normal items to hide the less legal things, he pulled out a clean shirt and his toiletries. The pants would have to do today. That done, he stood up and went to the bathroom.

Braced for the glare of the bathroom lights coming on, he was surprised when they slowly lit up, allowing his eyes to adjust. That was… unexpectedly nice. And wow—he looked like absolute shit.

His husband was being cremated today. Duo decided he was allowed to look like shit. Maybe it would earn him sympathy points with Jesus’s mom when he brought her the ashes?

If he were a betting man, Duo would say no. She was _Jesus Reyes’s_ mother. He didn’t know if anyone had gone to formally inform her of her son’s death. Duo had never met her—Soledad had cut Jesus off when he was about Duo’s age and first getting into dealing. As far as he knew, they hadn’t spoken since. If it were up to Duo, he wouldn’t bother, except that Marianna, Jesus’s sister, had come to the precinct to see Duo and asked him to.

Considering Duo had just put her only son in prison with the rest of the Kings Cartel, he thought honoring Marianna's wish was the least he could do. She had taken a calculated risk coming down anyway. He knew—and had told the officers—that she didn’t actually know anything. She suspected, sure, but she had very deliberately never asked, never had anything confirmed, and hadn’t been able to provide any meaningful information.

Wufei would probably skin him if he knew that he was planning to see Mrs. Reyes, alone, at his sister-in-law’s behest. It would be an ideal opportunity to ambush him, but given that Mrs. Reyes had cut ties with Jesus over dealing, he couldn’t imagine she’d condone, much less participate in, such a setup.

It was his own calculated risk that he was not going to tell his friends or Stark about.

He splashed his face with cold water, brushed his teeth, tested his cheeks for stubble. He hadn’t showered or shaved since Jesus had died, but he’d always had little body hair, and even at twenty-two, he really only needed to shave every other week or so.

Satisfied, he went to the shower, tossed his soap and shampoo into it, threw the towel over the door, and flipped it on. That done, he began to strip down. He traced his fingertips over the faded green-yellow ghosts of his last night with Jesus on his hips. Another day, and those would be gone.

Then he finally checked the wound in his abdomen. The stitches needed to come out—his skin was going to heal over them if he waited much longer, and then it would really suck to get them out. He knelt down to pull up his pants and grab a knife out of the calf sheath. He made quick work of the stitches, cutting them when necessary, then picking them out with practiced hands. Once they were all out, he ran his finger along the line of the scar sitting low on his abdomen, under his belly button, just under where the waist of his pants usually sat. It was smooth, in the center, where the cut had been surgical—the edges that tapered from the V of one hip to the other were more jagged—torn.

He shied away from the memory. Nothing would ever come of it now, so he put it out of his mind, finishing stripping out of clothing and weaponry. He took one of the knives with him into the shower. Overkill, probably, but it soothed his paranoia, so he sucked it up and stepped under the spray.

* * *

Since Central Park was only about a mile from the Tower, Sam, Bucky, and Steve walked it. It might be 5:30 in the morning, but the sidewalks between the Tower and the Park weren’t really clear enough for them to jog it, and Steve enjoyed the landmarks anyway. Once they got to the Park, they had several preferred routes they could run, and they’d split up then.

“So, what do you think about Tony’s kid?” Sam asked, starting the conversation as he usually did.

“He’s small?” Bucky offered.

Sam snorted. “Everyone’s small compared to you two,” he said.

“Well, what do you mean, what do we think about him? We’ve barely met him,” Bucky said.

“I didn’t even know he had a kid,” Sam pointed out, and well, Steve supposed that was fair. “Still trying to wrap my head around ‘Tony Stark: Father.’” He raised his hands in front of him for a moment as if framing a billboard.

Steve frowned. “Tony’s been looking for him for a year. More than.”

“I think you’re forgetting that Sam and I have only—and I use the term loosely here—‘known’ Stark for a few months. He hasn’t said a word about it where I could hear before he went to meet him,” Bucky said. “Stark was looking for someone for over a year and couldn’t find him?” he asked.

“I mean, it wasn’t the only thing he was doing, but yeah,” Steve admitted, finding it strange in retrospect. He probably should have noticed sooner, but his attention had been elsewhere, and Tony had kept Maxwell’s existence close to his chest even before everything had gone to hell.

“I thought Stark was going to lose his mind when you picked the kid up,” Sam said, nodding at Bucky.

“He’s not really a kid, is he?” Steve asked. “He was married. He’s a vet.”

“He’s a vet?” Sam’s head whipped to look at Steve.

“Eve Wars. You really didn’t know?” Steve asked.

“Really didn’t know.”

“He’s almost as small as you were, Stevie,” Bucky said. “Though I guess you don’t have to be big to want to make a difference.”

Steve pushed away the thought of what Tony might have done if he’d ever learned he had a son only to find out that he’d died fighting a war Tony almost missed. Steve might have been small but at least he hadn't been fifteen.

“How’d he even find out about the kid?” Sam asked.

“Family Reconstruction Registry.”

They stopped at a red light, even though there wasn’t enough traffic to make it necessary. “Wait,” Sam said, fists on hips. “He found out a year ago, but the kid was in the Eve Wars? The Registry went into place, what, five years ago? Why did Stark only find out a year ago?”

“Tony submitted his DNA after getting the arc reactor removed,” Steve said. He only knew because he’d asked after the match had come in, when things hadn’t, well, they hadn’t been good, but they’d been better. The light changed and they walked across, pausing at the next corner.

Sam frowned. “How long ago was that?”

Steve thought back, “In 98, I think.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Three years ago?”

“Must have been.”

“But the match only came in a year ago?”

The light changed again, and they made their way across the intersection again. “What?” Steve asked, seeing the thoughtful expression on Sam’s face.

“Just weird,” he said.

“What is?”

Sam was silent until another block brought them to another red light. “I would have thought someone that young would have submitted his DNA as soon as the registry was out there, that’s all. Why wait four or five years?”

“He didn’t want Stark to touch him,” Bucky said. Steve stared at him. “The kid. He was careful to keep out of Stark’s reach, but he relaxed when I picked him up.”

Steve sighed as the light changed, and they continued. “I’d have to ask.”

“Think the kid’ll tell you?”

“I was thinking I’d ask Tony.”

“Think Stark’ll answer you?” Sam asked as they hit the entrance of the park. “You haven’t really been on speaking terms the last few months.”

Steve winced because it was true. Tony may have successfully argued to get the Avengers cleared and back in the Tower, but he hadn’t forgiven Steve. Until last night, Tony was word-perfect polite in his interactions with Clint, Wanda, Sam, even Bucky. That politeness was so out of character and pointed exactly because of it. He’d been ignoring Steve to the point that Steve seriously considered moving back out. The tension any time the two of them were in a room was palpable and Steve didn’t know what to do about it. If Tony weren’t helping Bucky—defying all of Steve’s expectations—he thought he would leave, even if it meant saying “to hell” to the amnesty Tony had won them.

“Let’s run it off,” Bucky suggested, slapping the back of a hand against Steve’s chest and taking off. Sam gave shooing motion, and Steve took off after him. When they probably had a good half mile on Sam, Bucky slowed enough to talk while they were running.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asked.

“The kid, actually,” Bucky admitted, and Steve glanced at him, seeing his brows furrowed. “When he finds out what I did, what happens if he wants me gone?” he asked.

The question made Steve stop in his tracks. Bucky ran a couple more paces before looking back and slowing. Steve jogged to catch up. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Tony won’t kick you out. He knows you need help.”

“Are you sure? You saw him last night—do you think there’s anything he wouldn’t do for that kid?”

“I won’t let it happen.”

This time Bucky’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “And how did that go for you—the last time you and Stark went toe-to-toe?” he asked, eyes serious and somehow sad.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve told him, meeting his eyes, unwilling to flinch.

“He’s going to find out,” Bucky said. “Stark won’t keep it from him.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve repeated, both because he believed it and because he didn’t have a better answer.

“Normal people have problems living with people that murdered their family,” Bucky said as Steve started to run, not loud in the early-morning quiet, but loud enough that he knew Steve would hear him.

“Then we’d better hope that kid isn’t any more normal than his father,” Steve called over his shoulder. But the question rang in his ears as he ran. What _would_ they do if Maxwell demanded Bucky leave? Part of their amnesty required they all live in a single location. Tony insisted that he’d tried to argue for a secondary location or at least one of two locations, but the Earth Sphere United Nations he made his deal with wouldn’t have it. If they were going to forgive the Avengers, it needed to be for the greater good they could do, and for that, they needed to be united, which apparently meant living together. Steve still didn’t wholly agree with the Accords, though Natasha asked him to give Tony time. Steve could do that. To her point, they could always walk away later if they ended up being right and Tony couldn’t fix this.

But this kid—no, he mentally corrected. Not a kid. Maxwell, then. _Maxwell_ could shake the fragile foundations they’d been building. Bucky wasn’t wrong about the way Tony had defended him. There was no winning with that look in Tony’s eyes, that desperate stubbornness. He knew from painful, aching experience that if he went to battle with Tony like that again, it would shatter them both, this time beyond all hope of repair.

Bucky caught up to him as he was gaining on Sam to pass him. “How much are you going to sacrifice for me before you have nothing left?” he asked, low, solemn.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said, then added, “I’m with you till the end of the line.”

He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him, but he didn’t bring it up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I speak Japanese, so I'm reasonably confident that any (limited) Japanese that might make its way in is correct. I'm less certain in regards to the bits of Spanish--so any mistakes there are mine and mine alone.
> 
> _Solo tuyo_ \- Only yours


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What floor am I on?" he asked. 
> 
> "The 85th."
> 
> Duo didn't have anything against heights, but he was a colonist at heart. Skyscrapers of that magnitude didn't exist on colonies. And the last skyscraper he'd been in that went this high had fallen on him, so, there was that.

After luxuriating in the shower, Duo felt more like a person. Since it was still before 6 and he didn't need to be at the precinct until 9, he took his time wringing out his hair and brushing it. Most of the time, he found the task meditative and mind-clearing, though even he was about to the point where a solid two feet probably needed to go for practical reasons. Down and wet like this, it went to his fucking knees. 

It would have to wait a while longer. He didn't need a shrink to tell him that messing with the single greatest constant in his life when he was already off balance from Jesus's death was a Bad Idea. 

As done as he was likely to be, Duo tossed the mass over his shoulder and checked the clock just as it ticked over to display 6 a.m. 

At some point, he was really going to have to think about Tony Stark and the fact he had bio-family. Not yet, though. He hadn't eaten in probably close to twenty-four hours, and he really needed the calories. Sally was going to put his braid in a trophy case if he lost weight again. 

It probably wasn't an accident that he'd been put in a room that didn't have an attached kitchen. Though, if he were being fair, even if he had one, chances were good there wouldn't be any food in it anyway. That meant going out and figuring out both where he was and where the communal kitchen he'd seen last night was. 

He went ahead and braided his hair loosely—hopefully it would keep drying. At least it was March, not the heart of winter. 

Duo didn't think that walking around armed to the teeth in Avengers Tower was a great way to put people at ease, so he kept it to a minimum—knives in calf sheathes, gun holster and gun on over his button-down. He'd put his jacket on over it when he left. It had been long enough since he'd regularly worn a holster that it was uncomfortable, but wearing it at the small of his back was seriously frowned upon in law enforcement circles. 

He didn't even consider _not_ wearing it around the Tower. Whatever else he thought about the Avengers, they were fucking dangerous, and he wanted his security gun. 

He paused to pull on his boots then grabbed his bag, wallet, and jacket before he left the room. There was nothing about the hall that was particularly remarkable, nor the door to the room itself. He glanced down the hall in either direction, mentally marking a piece of art and its location in relation to his room. 

"Do you need help, Mr. Reyes-Maxwell?" a cheerful, vaguely Irish-sounding voice asked from nowhere, making Duo about jump out of his skin, pulling his gun without thought. "I'm so sorry! I'm FRIDAY—the artificial intelligence program that runs the Tower. Boss asked me to keep an eye out for you when you left your room."

Right. Genius. That AI sounded way too real for Duo's liking. He'd had exactly three encounters with AIs in his life—that Ultron thing the pilots had helped with a couple years back, the mobile doll programing, and Zero. None of them made him super excited to learn that Stark had an AI program running his tower. 

"Can you just point me in the direction of the kitchen?" he asked, putting the gun back, distantly bemused that the reflex to reach for a holster was still intact. "And call me Duo," he added, already tired of the correction. 

"Sure, Duo. As for the kitchen, if you go down the hall to your right, you'll come to an elevator. The common areas are on the 83rd floor, though if you want to go out onto the balcony, the party floor is the 80th floor."

"The party floor?" Duo asked wryly. The AI was no-nonsense, but it was hard to be put off by it. 

"It's an unofficial designation. It does have a full kitchen as well, though."

"What floor am I on?" he asked. 

"The 85th."

Duo didn't have anything against heights, but he was a colonist at heart. Skyscrapers of that magnitude didn't exist on colonies. And the last skyscraper he'd been in that went this high had fallen on him, so, there was that. He was probably never going to be a fan, but it was where he was for the moment. 

"I'll go with the common areas," he said, following the AI's direction and finding the elevator easily. He hit the button and counted his steps back, cementing the location of his room. If someone moved the art, he'd still be able to find it now. He also noticed the door for a stairway and added it to his mental floor plan. He'd barely had time to do that before the elevator opened up. 

It was huge, which he supposed made sense because the Avengers weren't exactly a group of small people. He hit the button for 83 and was unnerved by how little he felt the elevator move. Even hypersensitive to gravitational shifts as only a colonist or spacer could be, Duo barely felt it start. He'd been too tired and distracted the previous night to notice.

Stairs from now on, at least between floors. Maybe on the way up. Depended on how paranoid he was feeling at the time. 

If he stepped out of the elevator a bit quicker than normal, at least there wasn't anyone to call him on it. 

Once on the floor, everything was readily visible. It was an open floor plan, an inset seating area that could probably comfortably seat thirty—or maybe a dozen oversized Avengers— faced a large screen to his left, and to his right was a chef's wet dream of a kitchen. Stone countertops for miles, two 8-burner cooktops, two sets of wall-mounted ovens, a massive breakfast bar that could seat twenty. Duo figured there was an industrial-sized walk-in fridge somewhere. These were superhumans. He knew how much food five Gundam pilots could put away and could only imagine the caloric requirements of the Avengers. 

There was one person already in the kitchen—the man with red skin. He blinked and looked up at Duo. 

"Good morning. You prefer Duo, correct?" he asked, his voice a soft, warm British accent that reminded him of Relena's old retainer, Pargan. 

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry, I don't think I know you."

"I'm Vision," he said, and as Duo got closer, he could see the pieces of... tech? Wait—this guy had been at Sokovia. Duo hadn't known who he was and had only seen him in passing there. He _felt_ strange. Alive, but unlike anyone Duo had ever met before. Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because Vision seemed to close off and said, "I am... an artificial lifeform."

Duo blinked at him. "You mean... like an android?" he asked, setting his jacket on the back of one of the stools and his bag on the floor next to it.

"Just so." Vision nodded. 

Stopping at the bar across from where Vision was stirring a very large bowl of some kind of batter, he said, "Huh."

"That is... one of the stranger reactions I've had," Vision commented. 

"I don't love anything that can think if I don't know where it keeps its brain," Duo admitted. "But I'm pretty sure you keep your brain in your head, or at least in your body, so I can work with that. Besides, however you started, you're alive now."

Vision stared at him for long enough that he was getting uncomfortable. "That may be the kindest thing anyone other than Wanda has ever said to me."

Wait, what? 

"It's not kind," he said, giving Vision a strange look. "It's just true." Shinigami knew when something was alive and when it wasn’t, and even though Vision felt _strange_ , there was no question he was alive. Deciding that this discussion wasn't going to get any better, he asked, "What are you making there?"

"It's meant to be pancake batter," Vision said, but he looked a little dubious. Duo didn't blame him since pancake batter, in his experience, wasn’t quite that shade of gray. 

"Mind if I help with that?" he asked. 

"Please do."

Duo smiled, moving around the long bar to join Vision on the other side of the counter. "Can you tell me exactly what you put in here?"

Vision recited a list that was very mundane, until he got to the end, and said. “Wanda enjoys black licorice, so I melted some down and added it to the batter when it cooled.” He nodded to the pan on the stove, and yeah, that would do it. 

“You added… black licorice to the pancake batter,” Duo asked, because while sleep had helped, he wanted to be sure he hadn’t misheard. 

“Yes.”

"Do you mind if I ask a weird question?”

“Please do.”

“Do you need to eat?" he asked. 

"I don't need to, but..."

Duo waited a beat, then smiled and finished for him, "It makes you feel more human and you like being able to take care of people," he finished. Vision couldn't blush, but Duo got the impression that he was embarrassed to be read so easily. "That’s why you added the black licorice.”

"Most of the team enjoy breakfast, and they all seem to enjoy pancakes," Vision said. "I thought it would be nice, but it does not look very appetizing.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think it’s going to taste very good either,” he said. “Black licorice is a very distinct flavor, and it’s not one that everyone enjoys. It’s one of those love it or hate it things.” He made a face at the bowl. “And even if you love it, I don’t know that you’d like it in pancakes.”

Vision looked disappointed. “Can we save it?”

Duo bit his lip as he considered it—it was a shame to waste it, but if he were honest, unless they were literally starving, he didn’t think anyone would want to eat it. “Not really,” he admitted. “I think it’s a loss. But I’m happy to help make another batch and show you how to add to it without the recipe going sideways.”

“That would be appreciated,” Vision said, taking the bowl to the sink to dump out the batter. “Cooking is unexpectedly difficult.” It was an observation more than a complaint, but it made Duo smile a bit as he started looking through cabinets to find the base ingredients for a new batch. 

"Baking is a science. The instructions are usually precise, and so are the measurements. Follow the recipe exactly, you should be good. Cooking is an art—it requires a lot more experience and intuition. Basic recipes will get you to an acceptable, even a good meal. But really good cooking is more done to taste and isn't so measured. Pancakes fall into that weird middle space. They're cake-based, so they're technically baking, and you need to be careful with them, but they're pretty forgiving and the recipe has a billion iterations. The problem is, you went more into the cooking part of the equation when you added the licorice."

"How did you learn to bake and cook?" Vision asked, innocently curious as he washed the bowl. 

"Hanging out in kitchens during the Eve Wars. We had some, uh, wealthy people backing the Rebellion dirtside that offered safe houses, but I was always a lot more comfortable with the help, so I hung out in the kitchens. Most chefs are happy to teach their trade if you're polite and show interest." Once he realized that baking was pretty much like making explosives, only less with the explosive capacity, it had been easy to pick up, but he didn't think Vision needed to know that. 

Duo spent the next half hour walking Vision through all the steps, explaining the science behind the interactions, and how and when to substitute or alter recipes, as well as some basics about flavor. Duo found some fresh blueberries in the fridge that they were able to add. 

"You are a good teacher," Vision stated as he began to ladle the first cakes onto the really wonderful cast iron griddle top, following Duo’s directions to get each pancake nearly identical in size. 

"You're a good student," he said. Once he figured out how quickly Vision’s mind processed information, it made it easy to give it to him in ways that he’d retain and be able to reapply. 

When the griddle was full, Vision looked at him. "You make Wanda very nervous. I do not understand why."

Surprised, Duo looked up at him. "She's the girl—well, she's probably my age, but the girl with the longer hair?" he asked. Vision nodded. 

"Wanda Maximoff, code name the Scarlet Witch."

Witch, huh? That might be why Shini sat up and noticed her last night. Things got hazy once the hallucinations had kicked in, but Duo paid attention when Shinigami noticed something. 

He shrugged. "I rub some people the wrong way," he said, which, while true, probably had nothing to do with why he made her nervous. He'd met people who could sense Shini before, not many, but they were always memorable. They had a habit of cowering in terror at first encounter. On one notable occasion, the guy had a mental breakdown on the spot. He'd been an OZ interrogator who had taken one look at the laughing God of Death, and gone catatonic. It freaked out the next two interrogators badly enough that he'd been able to break them instead of the reverse. It also left a lasting impression on Une. 

If the girl was merely nervous, she probably didn't understand what she was sensing, just knew enough to know she didn't want to mess with it. Smart girl. 

The elevator opened, and the redhead walked in. Shini stirred, then settled. Oh goody, she was dangerous. Natasha Romanov, he thought. Black Widow. He mostly knew of her from her court appearance after she dumped all of SHIELD's files. Judging by how well Shini knew her, the moniker was an apt one. Duo knew that all of the Avengers were dangerous by virtue of what they were, but she was a different kind of dangerous. She was a killer. 

"Do I smell pancakes?" she asked, coming over. He saw the flicker of surprise, the barest hesitation as she caught sight of him. "You're up earlier than I expected," she commented neutrally. 

"I don't need a ton of sleep," he admitted, giving her a nugget of information. "Though even for me, an hour a day is not enough."

She came over, popping herself up on a barstool. "You're looking better than yesterday."

"A recently exhumed corpse looked better than me yesterday," Duo told her. "I still look like shit, but that's unlikely to change in the near future. Natasha, right? Or do you prefer Widow? Tasha? Nat?"

"Natasha," she said, watching him with too observant eyes. "Leaving soon?"

"I don't need to be back at the precinct till 9."

"Then why the gun?" she asked.

"No offense, but pretty much everyone here can break me in half without breaking a sweat. Don't pick at my paranoia and I won't pick at yours." She was wearing at least six knives that he'd counted and she had a gun. Hello, kettle much?

"You are safe here," Vision said, sounding perplexed. "You are among friends."

He noticed Natasha didn't echo that sentiment. Duo wasn't sure they were even all friends with each other, never mind his friends. "Give me time to convince my brain of that, buddy," he said instead. 

"FRIDAY, where's everyone else at right now?"

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Staff Sergeant Wilson went running around 5:30 this morning. They usually return around 6:30, so they should be back any time. As far as I can tell, Boss and Dr. Banner are all still sleeping. Agent Barton is the gym."

"Okay," Duo said. "That's fucking creepy. I'll take my hotel tonight, if it's all the same to you." 

"Does it bother you that much?" Romanov asked, and he'd swear there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. 

"Aren't you supposed to be all ex-spy lady like? If you tell me it didn't bug you, at least at the beginning, I'm calling bullshit," he said while pointing a spatula at her for emphasis. 

She shrugged. "You get used to it."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Duo is not fond of artificial intelligence," Vision volunteered. 

"Tony will be disappointed," she commented. 

Duo flipped several pancakes, demonstrating the technique on the first few, checking them before handing the spatula to Vision to let him flip the last few. He wasn't touching Romanov’s comment with his beam scythe. Stark and his position as bio-dad were still in his mental no-go zone. 

"Want some pancakes?" he asked. 

"Did you make them, or did Viz?"

"Duo helped me fix them," Vision said. 

She raised an eyebrow. "So you really do cook?"

It was Duo's turn to shrug as he ladled out more pancakes, matching their sizes perfectly because it amused him. "You would too if you'd lived with my roommates."

"Reyes?"

Duo snorted. "Jesus could burn water. It was bizarre. At least he washed dishes." Jesus was relatively safe territory if only for the fact that they were all aware he'd been with him. Quatre was nearly as useless in the kitchen as Jesus—which was why he never got to play with explosives less stable than C4. Heero had a cast iron stomach and only a minimal sense of taste, so if the directions weren't "open the plastic and place in microwave/oven," the results were iffy at best. Fei _could_ cook, but tended toward simple fare at the best of times and had almost no patience for anything that took more than 10 minutes, leaving Duo and Trowa as the only two who had both an appreciation of good food and the ability to produce it. 

He wasn't picky. He could, would, and had eaten almost anything. Given a choice though, he preferred good, homemade food. He may have learned to take opulence and wealth in stride, but he didn't think he would ever take good food for granted. 

"Tony's a nightmare in the kitchen. He invariably gets distracted by something and forgets where he was or burns something," Romanov said. 

Second Stark reference in as many minutes. She'd been a _spy_. Surely she wasn't _this_ obvious? "So, pancakes?" he said, ignoring it to check that the pancakes were done. He showed Vision how to check, let him take the batch off the griddle, and stole the top one off to munch as Vision poured the next batch. When the first bite hit his stomach, his body realized he'd been hungry, and he was suddenly ravenous. He barely hesitated to roll it, and promptly made use of a very suppressed gag reflex to inhale it in about three bites. 

"Just one," she agreed. He felt like she was appeasing him, but whatever. They were good pancakes. Her loss if she didn't want more. 

Vision produced a stack of plates and set them on the counter where Duo could easily reach. He tossed one onto a plate for Romanov, and handed it up to her. "If you got any fresh fruit, I can dice that up and put it out for people to put on top?" he suggested to Vision as he dug in the cabinets to find a glass. 

“We have apples, oranges, bananas, and strawberries,” he said, happy to volunteer the information as Duo filled his glass with water, then downed about half of it so he could keep the hunger in check long enough to dice up fruit. “There is syrup in the pantry to the left.”

There was something achingly innocent about the man, almost childlike. It tugged at ancient pains, and Duo turned back to fridge, finding the strawberries and deciding to start there. He could feel Romanov’s eyes on him, but he ignored her too, grabbing another pancake to munch on like a piece of bread before he went to the counter. It'd be better with toppings, but it was pretty good on its own. 

He actually could swallow it whole but knew from experience that it sat weird in his stomach when he did that. Seeing Jesus’s poleaxed reaction had been totally worth it, though when he thought about it, he wondered why Jesus had been surprised. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been the recipient of those skills before…

 _“Se solo mio,”_ murmured into his ear, so real that Duo startled, looking around. 

Nothing. Just Vision focused on the griddle and Romanov finishing buttering her pancake. 

He felt the ghost of Jesus’s hand trailing down his side and refused to respond to the memory. 

Sometimes having near perfect recall could be a nightmare. He’d had flashbacks of the church for months, bright and so real he sometimes had trouble distinguishing them from reality. 

_Lock it down_ , he told himself, carefully pushing the memories of Jesus into a mental box and closing the lid firmly. _He’s gone. He is_ not _here._

He found the bananas, then moved to the pantry and found five different kinds of syrup. Clearly everyone had their own. He paused to put the bananas on the counter before delivering the collection of syrups onto the breakfast bar. 

While he did that, Viz had finished another batch. He took another finished one off his stack and rolled it up, forcing himself to eat it, even though the memory had stolen his appetite. He’d been hungry often enough to eat regardless of how he felt. That done, he went back to the counter for the fruit, realized he needed a cutting board, then went back to the cabinets to pull it out. At this point, he had been in them all, so at least he knew where to look. He grabbed a couple large bowls for the fruit while he was at it. 

The elevator opened, and three men came out of it. Duo recognized Captain America easily enough. He assumed that Barnes was the similarly large guy, which left Wilson, who definitely looked worse for the wear. 

"Do I smell pancakes?" Wilson asked as if it were ambrosia. Duo could relate. As he approached the bar, he noticed Vision manning the griddle, and hesitated. 

"Don't worry, Sam," Romanov said. "Duo helped. They're really good." At Duo's questioning glance, he noticed she'd somehow cleaned her plate of the one she'd had. "Good enough that I'll take another."

He shrugged, reaching over to flip another one onto her plate, then turned his attention back to the fruit. 

"Duo, should we be worried about too much fruit or pancakes?" Vision asked. 

"No," Duo said, shaking his head. "If it doesn't all get eaten, it'll freeze fine. I'm sure there's a health nut or three in this Tower. The fruit’ll be great in smoothies. And pancakes can freeze and be warmed in the oven." He put three pancakes on a plate and handed them up to Wilson without a word. 

Romanov handed him a syrup and butter, and he applied them with gusto. 

The captain had come closer, cautious in a way that said he was nervous—though Duo had no idea why—but Barnes held back, hovering awkwardly by the elevator. 

Wilson moaned as he took his first bite, a look of happiness on his face, but he finished chewing his bite before speaking. "Wow, that's amazing. Steve, Bucky, you gotta try this."

The captain—Rogers—sat down, though he still watched Duo with guarded eyes. He turned away to grab a knife out of the knife block and finally begin cutting up the fruit. 

"I know I'm _scary_ ," Duo mocked, emphasizing scary with a mock spooky tone, "but I haven't actually done anything yet to have you walking on eggshells, so I'm assuming it's not me."

Barnes and Rogers looked at each other, a conversation passing in expressions, and Barnes made his way over. 

For fuck's sake...

"Barnes, right? You carried me up?" he asked, the scent of blood and gun oil coming back to him. He would bet that the good captain didn't smell of blood—he didn't imagine any of the other Avengers did, except for maybe Romanov. She might be stronger than she looked, but he was damn certain she couldn't pick him up like a child. 

"I hope that wasn't a problem," Barnes answered, almost defensive. 

Duo was perplexed. There was absolutely no reason for him to be this wary. "Only in so much as I'm sorry I passed out on you," he said. Aware of the tension, he sighed. "What am I missing?"

"It's nothing," Rogers jumped in quickly. Romanov’s eyebrow twitched just the tiniest bit. So, definitely something, and she didn't agree with his way of dealing with it. 

"Right," he said, annoyed. It wasn't even seven yet, but he was tempted to call Sally. She was seven hours ahead, and even though she was going to yell, he'd rather talk to someone honest than have this strange standoff of things he didn't know about. "Are you going to sit and eat? Viz made enough batter to feed a small army, and I'm pretty sure your team qualifies."

"We really shouldn't be making you cook—you're a guest," Rogers said, finding his manners. 

Because he liked Vision, Duo didn't point out that they probably should be grateful he had. He decided to give a small truth. "I like cooking. And Viz did the heavy lifting."

"Is there coffee?" Barnes asked, tentative. 

"Whole pot," Duo said. He suspected that there was always coffee in the Tower, since the pot had been set to warm when he came down. "Help yourself."

Barnes didn’t move. What the ever-loving fuck? Duo turned to the one person he thought might answer. "What am I missing?" he asked Vision. 

Vision looked uncomfortable. "I do not believe Sergeant Barnes or Captain Rogers would like me to disclose that."

Duo peeled two bananas in rapid succession, annoyed and thinking. Whatever had them on edge wasn't common knowledge, but it was _shared_ knowledge, at least in this group. "How smart is the smart house?" Duo asked. 

"You mean FRIDAY?" Rogers asked, surprised. 

"Yeah."

"I'm a learning, natural language UI, but I have full access to the Internet and can answer most questions for you," FRIDAY said without prompting. It made Duo's skin crawl. He was so not staying in this Tower another night if he could help it. "Boss authorized me to answer any question you may have that I have access to, Duo."

Oh, did he now? Judging by how tense the supersoliders just went, that didn't make them happy. "FRIDAY, do you know why Barnes and Rogers are so nervous around me?" he asked. 

"I believe it has to do with Sergeant Barnes's history as the Winter Soldier and as an assassin. He is responsible for the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark."

Oh, that was a sore spot judging by their reactions. 

"FRIDAY, did you have to—?" Rogers started. 

"Boss instructed as much transparency as possible—particularly in regards to family history."

Right. Howard and Maria Stark were Tony Stark's parents, which meant they were Duo's grandparents. No wonder Barnes at least was on edge—that was guilt. 

"Thanks, FRIDAY."

"Please don't hesitate to ask me any other questions you might have, Duo."

Thanks but no thanks. While that had definitely been useful and downright required knowledge, the AI was way too intelligent and too human for his liking. He hadn't really thought it would be able to answer such a question when he'd asked—hoping it would get the people themselves to fess up. 

"You gonna eat or what?" he asked, annoyed since, if anything, the supersoldiers looked ready to get up. 

"Would you like us to leave?" Rogers asked. 

Duo finished dicing the bananas, scooped them into a bowl, then said, “It’s your home. If whatever happened were malicious on his part, he wouldn't be here. Is all this stuff in the fuckton of SHIELD files you dumped into the 'net?" he asked, directing the last question at Romanov. 

"Some of it," she admitted. 

"I don't suppose you'd give me the abridged version?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to be up to my fucking neck in cartels and international drug trafficking for weeks. Unnecessary guilt complexes are annoying. I don't know when I'll have time to dig through all the data, but I did take a glance through it when you first dumped it, and it could take weeks for me to find what I'm looking for, even if I had the time. Since I don't, I'd really rather you all just spill."

"I wasn't just responsible for their deaths—I murdered them," Barnes said, growing a backbone and awaiting judgment. 

"Why?" Duo asked, curious. It was obvious it wasn't as simple as Barnes was trying to make it. 

"Why?" he asked, getting angry. "Because I was ordered to."

Something about the answer and the defiant look in Barnes's eyes recalled another supersoldier he knew. Heero had that same self-hating defiance in his eyes when he talked about what J had made him do when he was meant to be a human robot instead of a person. 

Duo closed his eyes, sighing, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Brainwashed, then. "Kay. I get it." He opened his eyes and added, "You eating or what?" He pulled an apple over and began to peel it. 

"That's it?" Barnes asked suspiciously. 

"That's it," Duo agreed. 

"That's really it?" Rogers echoed. 

Duo met his eyes. "You know you're talking to the guy who _married_ Jesus Reyes, right? I know a thing or two about bad decisions. He's here, so obviously things have changed. I don't throw stones from my glass house, thanks."

Barnes and Rogers exchanged glances again, but it looked like they were going to take Duo's response at face value. Duo set the apple down, split the stack of pancakes neatly in half onto two plates, and shoved them both onto the bar. "Eat."

They both settled down and pulled their plates to them. 

Note to self—direct orders still worked on soldiers. He'd kind of forgotten that. 

He would have to look into the details more. They were not going to give him the whole story without making him pry every piece of it out. Just thinking about it made him tired. He went back to peel another apple, the stupid challenge of getting it off in one piece enough to keep his hands busy at least. 

Maybe if he were really lucky, he could get Une to recall him back to Brussels, and he could just forget about all of this. 

Jesus’s ring felt heavy on his thumb. 

He knew he wasn't that lucky.

Later. He'd deal with all this nonsense later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C4 is actually crazy stable. Mythbusters has pretty much an entire episode devoted to testing how stable it actually is, and honestly, it pretty much won’t blow unless you want it to. 
> 
> EDIT (since the link wasn't working): Stark Tower's layout comes from https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/thebetabranch/stark-tower-layout-t875.html. Full credit to the brilliant minds there--I'm just borrowing the brilliance. Incidentally, 200 Park Place is just a mile from Central Park, as mentioned in the previous chapter. I did googlemap it.
> 
> Another edit (because that's what happens when you're too close to a fic):  
>  _Se solo mio_ \- Be only mine. Edited again b/c [Jocysoto13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jocysoto13) was gracious enough to correct my translation and provide a better match to "just be mine." Thank you so much!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why Duo? Why risk someone so valuable?"
> 
> "Why do we ever risk those that are precious to us, Mr. Stark?"

Tony kicked himself for forgetting to tell FRIDAY to wake him up as soon as Duo left his room. Wandering down to the common kitchen to find Duo, dressed in all black down to the gun holster, making pancakes with Natasha, Steve, Barnes, Wilson, and Vision at 7:30 was a little bizarre. He made a beeline to the coffee pot. He ignored the fact that the soft chatter had stopped when he appeared to focus on Duo. 

"You're up early, kid."

Duo glanced up under his lashes, and Tony winced.

"I guess you're not really a kid, being twenty-one and all." He got an odd look. "Or are you still not used to thinking of yourself as twenty-one?"

"Twenty-two."

Tony was tired, but he was sure that his math was right. "October 31st, AC 80—you'll be twenty-two in like six months."

"Oh, that."

"Yeah, that," Tony leaned against the counter watching his son. "What about that?"

Duo finished peeling an apple while he considered before sighing. "I don't know my birthday. As far as Sally could figure, I was born sometime early in AC 80. I always just do the math on the year."

Tony stared. "But your file says—"

He got a droll look in return for that. "Of course it does. Do you know what a nightmare it is trying to fill out paperwork if you don't have a birth date? I picked a date when I joined Preventers. I picked Halloween because it was fun and it amused me, but I was probably born earlier in the year."

"You don't know your birthday?" This from Wilson. He sounded appalled. Duo just rolled his eyes. "What about your mother?" Wilson asked. Duo shrugged.

“I’ll figure it out,” Tony promised. He _would_ figure it out because it was making him nuts not remembering. But there had been so many one-night stands and women and alcohol back then, he was lucky he even remembered her eyes.

Those same eyes peeked over Duo’s shoulder, considering. “Do as it suits you,” he said, turning back to the fruit in front of him.

Wasn’t he even a little curious?

Before Tony could say anything else, Duo reached over to toss several pancakes onto a plate, turned, and handed it to Tony. He grabbed two more pancakes from the stack, immediately downing one, sticking the second in his mouth as he walked past him, pausing to grab a jacket off the back of a chair and slung his duffel over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Tony asked.

Pulling his braid from under the jacket with the thoughtlessness of habit, Duo spun back on his heel to look at Tony, finishing swallowing the second pancake. “Precinct,” he said flatly.

“It’s not even eight.”

“Plenty of work to do,” Duo said, picking up a bag, and then starting to turn away again.

“How are you going to get there?”

He stopped, stilling in a way that felt very deliberate. “I do know how to navigate this city without a chauffeur.” 

“That wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?”

“I just…”

“Want what isn’t yours,” Duo said, and when Tony met his eyes, there was no warmth or kindness there.

“I think that’s a little harsh. I’ve done nothing but—”

Duo cut him off. “I have another long day of dealing with assholes lined up, so I’m just going to go.”

Ignoring their audience, Tony set his plate aside and tried to move over to Duo, tried to get within at least an arm’s reach of him, but Duo kept him easily just outside of that bubble. “Can you give me a chance, please? I know I can’t make up for not being there, but I’m hoping that doesn’t mean we can’t have a relationship at all.” It was about as close to begging as Tony generally came.

Looking put upon, Duo sighed. "You would have to be _earnest._ " He said it with more disgust than Tony had heard him say any actual profanity. "I wasn't kidding before. I can't deal with you right now."

"You're my _son_ ," Tony told him, the truth of the statement ingrained in his being in some indefinable but undeniable way. "There will always be a place for you here and place for you in my life. I would really like that to be a nice big place. I mean, I know I'm not exactly a catch—"

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, the whole merchant of death thing?"

Duo's glare was flat. "I feel like a broken record, but you do remember that I _married the bad guy_ , right? Pretty sure that means I'm not in a position to judge you on what you did when you were an arrogant, over-privileged snot."

"To be totally fair, I'm still both of those things—arrogant and over-privileged, that is." He thought he saw a tiny spark of amusement in Duo's eyes. _Why Reyes?_ he wanted to ask. _He loved you—as much as someone like him was able to anyway. But why did you love him? And you did. Why a man who was literally old enough to be your father? Wasn't there any other way? There had to be a better way._ But he knew he couldn't ask those questions. Duo had made his position clear, and he would not justify or explain himself to Tony. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "When—" He stopped. He couldn't command or demand or assume here. "Can—" No, still wrong. "Will you be back tonight?" He hated asking it that way. He wanted to tell Duo to come back, wanted to know what time to expect him and hold him to it. 

"No," Duo said. The simple response felt like a slap. 

"Tomorrow?"

"We'll see."

"When?"

"When I'm ready."

Tony wanted to explode, but it looked like Duo would take that as permission to just walk away, and he wasn't giving him the excuse. He opened his mouth to say—what he hadn't decided, his brain would have found something, but it was interrupted by a gong sound and some techno-sounding music. 

Duo moved, and Tony hadn't realized how incredibly _still_ he'd been before then. He pulled out his phone and accepted the call. "I wondered how long it would take you to give me a call." His eyes softened as he spoke to whoever was on the phone. 

"FRI," Tony said softly. "Send the information about Duo's caller to my phone." He pulled out his own phone, and after a moment, Chang Wufei's information popped up. Well, he really was Duo's friend at least, and a good one judging by Duo's reaction to him. 

"Hold on, Fei," Duo said, eyes on Tony as he took the phone away from his ear. "I know that this line isn't secure, but you're going to find real fast that if I want you to know something, I will fucking tell you. Hack my shit again, and I will bring your system down."

The idea of _anyone_ shy of maybe Vision or Richard Reed cracking Tony's security was laughable, but before he could think of a response that wasn't guaranteed to make Duo try for the sheer contrariness of it, Duo said, " _Try_ me." It was a dare and a threat in one. He turned away, started walking not toward the elevator, but to the stairway. His voice carried to Tony before he left. "Before I forget, do you mind playing messenger for me? I'm going to need to hop a flight to Brussels sooner than later. Servers have been hacked."

The door closed, cutting off his voice.

"What's in Brussels?" Steve asked, breaking the silence. 

"Preventer Headquarters," Natasha said, clearly having followed the conversation. 

Steve looked between them, a little confused before coming to the obvious conclusion. "You hacked Preventers files?" he asked, resigned more than upset. 

"Of course,” he admitted. "But it took JARVIS more than a month to get in."

"It took _JARVIS_ a month?" Natasha asked, probably the one who understood the best. 

Tony nodded. "It's the most secure server I've run into outside of SHIELD itself. I had a mental note to ask Duo later if he could find out who designed the security system, but I think he just answered my question."

"Just because he knows how to fix it doesn't mean he designed it," Wilson protested. 

"He probably hasn't touched that system for at least two years. Do you understand how much time that is in tech terms? If he's confident he can fix them, it's because he knows them extremely well."

"Have you figured out how he and Une crossed paths during the Eve Wars?" Natasha asked. "He was Rebellion, but he couldn't have been just a kid being a nuisance. She was way too high up in OZ hierarchy to deal with anyone who wasn't a tangible threat. Maybe he was a hacker? He _is_ your son."

"Did I tell you he was at the Jackson-Stryker Building?" Tony asked her. 

Under other circumstances, it would have been gratifying to see overt surprise on her face. "Who sends a nineteen-year-old agent on an assignment like that?"

"The better question might be what kind of nineteen-year-old would be _suitable_ for an assignment like that," Tony pointed out. "Though if he were an especially accomplished hacker, he might have had the skills to hack the bombs to disable them. The only reason the evacuation was as successful as it was is because the agent disabled the remote detonation devices. They couldn't fully disarm them, though."

"One problem with that theory," Barnes said, surprising Tony. In the two months he'd been in the Tower, he made an effort to stay out of Tony's way if they weren't actively working on BARF, and he almost never spoke to him. 

"What's that?" 

"Since when do hackers carry guns and knives like they know how to use them?"

"Would a hacker of that caliber be risked in an undercover assignment?" Vision asked. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. He didn't need her reminder. Nothing about Duo and his Preventer or mission history was making sense. Irritated, he sat at the bar. 

"FRI, gimme the Preventers server. I think we missed something last time we looked."

A screen popped up, and Tony navigated to Duo's file. Duo's rather sparse file. Tony hadn't thought much of it at the time simply because Duo was so young. Vision passed over his plate of pancakes while Tony worked with Friday to search out additional layers of security. He'd really only been looking for Duo-related files at the time, so he hadn't dug deep. Now he was on a mission for more detailed information. He dug into the pancakes—surprisingly good—while he started in earnest.

Tony was only vaguely aware of the others around him, Barton and Maximoff moving in, getting updated by the rest of the team, and moving off again. Bruce came to hover over his shoulder. He wasn't a hacker, but he asked good questions and was a great sounding board, but he drifted away before long, leaving Tony alone in the kitchen.

"It didn't take this long to hack SHIELD," Steve said, sliding a plate with a sandwich on it next to Tony's elbow. Tony blinked down at it, realizing Steve and Barnes had filtered back into the kitchen at some point and it now, apparently, qualified as lunch time.

"I was able to plug directly into their systems on the helicarrier. Getting into closed systems from the outside is a lot more challenging. That's the whole point of closed systems," Tony said absently, reading through the code on his screen. He was _right there_. He could _feel_ it. 

He was also impressed. Tony knew the Preventers system was good, but this was... this was _Tony_ good. If Duo really had built this, he was a certifiable genius, and his boast of being able to take down Tony's system wasn't looking that far-fetched. 

"Boss," FRIDAY said, and there was definitely concern in her voice. 

"Hit me with it."

"I think we tripped a—" Her voice cut out as the screen started flashing, warning signs and error messages. 

"Abort, FRI," Tony said with a sigh, not all that concerned until the screen blinked out. "FRIDAY?" 

Power in the entire Tower went down. "Well, fuck," Tony said with feeling. About five seconds later, it came back up. 

"FRIDAY—status," Tony demanded. 

"We're okay, Boss," she said. "I was able to isolate the invasive program, but I needed to disconnect from the Preventers server to do so. I don't think we can reconnect without risking reactivating it."

"Can you show me the invasive program without risking us?" he asked. 

A screen reactivated, and a second window displayed the invasive program information. On the screen, a grim reaper wielding a scythe stood next to text reading, "GoD has found you. Prepare for your personal Rapture."

"Did Duo strike anyone as being particularly religious?" he asked, mostly just to hear his own thought.

FRIDAY cut off any potential answer. "Boss, call from Director Une coming through."

"That was fast. Put her on." Une's face popped up on his screen. She didn't look pleased. "Good..." he mentally calculated the time difference, "...afternoon, Director. What can I help you with?"

"Congratulations are in order, I see. You're the first person to trigger those security programs in the six years since they were instituted. By all rights, I should have my local branch on their way to your Tower to take you into immediate custody."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said on autopilot. 

"Of course not. That's why I don't have an alert with your Tower geolocated as the source of the breach."

"See?" He smiled his most winning, harmless smile. 

"Maxwell does that much better than you do. Speaking of which, I now need to have him flown out to headquarters to put right whatever you've compromised. NYPD is not going to be happy with letting him out of their jurisdiction while the Reyes investigation is active."

"He didn't seem particularly worried about being arrested," Tony told her, surprised she seemed to be stressed about it. 

"He's not. He expects me to be able to protect him, and if that fails, he's confident in his ability to go to ground."

"Well, if he's this level of hacker, I'm not surprised he's confident," Tony pointed out. If Tony weren't so famous, he could definitely vanish. Heck, even _with_ his level of fame, he could do it if he wanted to. Duo didn't exist before six years ago. It would be much easier for him to erase himself. 

"I am well aware of Maxwell's abilities, Mr. Stark—"

"It's Reyes-Maxwell, now," he said, letting a little anger into his voice. She looked pained but didn't argue. "What the hell were you thinking, sending a kid into that kind of situation? Did you tell him to seduce Reyes?"

Even as angry as he was, Tony was glad he had an ocean and the better part of a continent between himself and Une given her glare. "That is not something I have ever asked, or would ever ask, my agents to do, _Mr. Stark_. In fact, when Maxwell first reported that Reyes had expressed interest in him, I told him—very explicitly— _to pull out_. Three other undercovers had gone missing or turned up dead trying to get close to Reyes—one of them dismembered _while they were alive_. Even aside from the distasteful method, I don't want to imagine what Reyes would have done to a lover he suspected." 

Tony blinked in surprise at her vehemence. "You're not just his boss," he said. "You care about Duo,” he realized. “You care about him specifically. Why?"

She sighed, gathering herself with enviable speed. "Maxwell is a friend."

"Why would you send a friend into something like that? He's a hacker, not an undercover agent!"

"You have no idea what Maxwell is or isn't. If that's why you were hacking our servers, you'd have been disappointed. Complete personnel files are kept as hard copies only."

"Why Duo? Why risk someone so valuable?"

"Why do we ever risk those that are precious to us, Mr. Stark?" she asked, sounding tired and far older than she should. He knew the question was rhetorical, but it still caught him off guard. "In any case, if you wanted to keep Duo close to you, mission not accomplished. He'll be on the first flight out. If he goes back to New York, I'll have someone notify you."

She hung up before he could respond to that. Tony suppressed the urge to call her back and demand she let Duo come and get that invasive program removed, but honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to give Duo enough access to FRIDAY's servers to remove it. He ignored the "if he goes back" taunt. Duo was an adult—whether he came back or not was his decision, not hers. "Why do we ever risk those that are precious to us?" he repeated, turning the question over in his mind. 

The answer came from Steve. "Because we're desperate."

Tony met his eyes, remembered the pain of Steve raising the shield and nearly caving in his chest with it. Steve looked away first.

Desperate was a good word for it.

What could have made calm, cool, virtually unflappable Une so desperate that a deep undercover assignment was the only option? 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hard to reconcile the guy who fucked a murderous cartel lord with the Darkside they’ve heard of,” Duo replied, shrugging it off. 
> 
> “No,” Dunlap said, looking at Duo with a shrewdness that Duo hadn't expected. “I don’t think it is. It’s just a different kind of sacrifice.”

“I’m just saying—I don’t understand why he’s not behind bars too,” the voice floated to Duo, who had a headache and was about at the end of his patience after getting grilled all morning.

He had been telling them almost everything, and the little he was leaving out was mostly personal. Duo had been Jesus’s bodyguard as well as his lover, and while he’d broken some heads and limbs in that role, he’d only killed a couple of times for Jesus. The first time had been in genuine defense of his life and had been what had cemented Jesus’s interest in him. It was also already known to Preventers, so it couldn’t be held against him. The second had been the killing of a man who was being tortured by Jesus’s pet sadist. If push came to shove, Duo was pretty sure he could justify it—it was a mercy killing, and the man would have been killed anyway. The biggest potential black mark against him was the erasure of the so-called Death Riders, a gang that had been trying to oust the Kings. He’d taken them out while rescuing a Heero and his VIP fiancée the unfortunate gang had kidnapped. Since he had Une’s blessing to use any means necessary to recover the hostages, they couldn’t hold against him even if they could confirm he was the one who took the gang out.

There really wasn’t anything particularly damning otherwise that any of the Kings could try to use against him. The NYPD cops seemed to resent the hell out of the way Duo had elected to get close to Jesus. Getting grilled for the fourth consecutive day like he was the worst kind of criminal was getting on his last nerve.

Fuck, but he really hated cops.

Jesus had been cremated first thing that morning, and there Duo was, taking flack and innuendo and barely veiled insults that Jesus would have killed them for.

 _You’re not in a cartel anymore_ , he reminded himself. _You never really were. You’re a Preventer and you need to keep yourself in control._

Maybe the reason being treated like the worst kind of crook rubbed so badly was the knowledge that he was only a small sidestep away from _being_ that crook.

Without Une at his back, maybe he simply was that crook.

A water bottle was set in front of him, along with a travel pack of Excedrin. Duo blinked up at Dunlap.

“You look like you could use it,” he said. “We’ve got some Chinese coming for lunch, if you want, too.”

“Thanks,” Duo said, taking the water bottle, checking the seal on it automatically before breaking it and downing half the bottle. He slid the Excedrin back. “Save it for someone it’ll do a damn bit of good for.”

Dunlap blinked. “Need more than two?”

“Less. I can take a couple of acetaminophen or ibuprofen, but anything stronger, and my body just kicks it out.”

“We’ve definitely got some Tylenol around, if you want.”

“I’ll live,” Duo said, waving him off. “So I haven’t seen you the last few days. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“You saved my cousin’s wife at the Jackson-Stryker Building. Shiv Dunlap. Shivanshika, but we call her Shiv.”

Shiv had been one of the more level-headed of the people down there. He smiled. “She said she had cops in the family.”

“You remember her?” Dunlap perked up.

 _I remember them all_ , he thought, shoving down memories of the four days buried in the sub-basement of the building with the 239 people they’d managed to get down there before it went. The news had called them “the two hundred,” but it had been more. “A 4’11” spitfire with a braid as long as mine tends to stick with you.”

Dunlap smiled warmly, clearly fond of his cousin’s wife, before getting serious again. “I asked her about you. I mean, you said you were Darkside, and I had to take that at face value, but I asked her.”

“What did she have to say?” Duo asked, curious. He’d made a point of getting to know everyone’s name, where they were from, who they had waiting for them. He’d mostly done it to keep from going insane with worry over Heero, but there had been plenty of minor injuries to tend to, and lots of traumatized people to try to keep calm. They’d been lucky that a faucet in the sub-basement somehow survived the collapse of the building intact, so no one was going to die of thirst, but they could have easily been stuck down there for weeks instead of days.

“That you were probably the single bravest man she’d ever met,” Dunlap said, a wondering respect in his voice. “Your partner was hurt, wasn’t conscious, you had over two hundred people to keep calm and keep safe. She said you kept your head on the whole time. Kept everyone’s spirits up. She didn’t know when you slept, or if you did at all. During it all, you helped dig out a way to the surface. She said there was no question you saved them all.”

Duo leaned back in his chair, memories of the exhaustion and stress of those days reflecting the stress and exhaustion of the last four days. He tapped his fingers on the table, unconsciously playing the song that had whispered through his mind— _It feels easier to just swim down_.

There had been a lot of those days since that building had come down.

“If I’d done my damn job, it wouldn’t have come down at all,” he said, almost without meaning to.

Dunlap shook his head. “There were _no fatalities_. Not one. You forget that this city had survived the Battle of New York two years before. I remember how awed everyone was when they realized that there were no bodies. Not one. All survivors. There’s a good reason every cop in this town knows the name Darkside. I’m embarrassed that the guys in this building seem to have forgotten.”

“Hard to reconcile the guy who fucked a murderous cartel lord with the Darkside they’ve heard of,” Duo replied, shrugging it off.

“No,” Dunlap said, looking at Duo with a shrewdness that Duo hadn't expected. “I don’t think it is. It’s just a different kind of sacrifice.”

Duo disagreed. Nothing about taking the assignment had to do with helping anyone. There had been a lot of days, especially at the beginning, when he hoped Jesus would kill him. Just thinking about it recalled the feeling of Jesus’s hand around his throat, pressing, feeling his breath cut off, wondering if this time, _this time_ he wouldn’t wake up again.

It never went that far. Jesus always let go just before Duo blacked out, but he’d left some spectacular bruises that even the highest collars didn’t hide.

“You really give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Dunlap countered, but he stood. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know at least one guy in this place hasn’t forgotten what you did, hasn’t forgotten that you’re one of the good ones. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Dunlap.”

“Max,” he said, and Duo stared. “My given name’s actually Maxwell, but everyone calls me Max.” He grinned.

It took a moment before Duo could formulate an answer to that. “Duo,” he said simply.

Dunlap nodded. “I’ll bring ya some Chinese. Any preferences?”

“I’ll eat about anything,” Duo said.

“I’ll be back.”

Duo was still processing when the door opened up and Averson himself stepped in. He was one of the better of his people, but he was really too high ranked to be intimately involved in the groundwork. The fact he hadn’t once admonished his people to treat Duo like a member of law enforcement instead of a suspect meant that Duo didn’t buy his act, but it wasn’t worth antagonizing the man over.

“You’ve got an emergency call from Director Une herself,” he said, handing Duo’s borrowed cell to him. “She’s asked you call her back immediately.”

_What now?_

He dialed the number and wasn’t terribly surprised when Une picked up on the first ring.

“What’s up, lady?” he asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Your father thought it would be cute to try to hack into our servers. I’m guessing you said something that made him want to dig more deeply into your files than he had before.”

Duo propped his elbows on the table and rubbed between his eyes. “I mighta.”

“Lovely. Well, now I need you to come to Brussels to fix the issue. You may as well do a full upgrade while you’re here. I haven’t dared let anyone else touch it while you were unavailable.”

That was a good idea, actually. The mainframe and security that he and Heero had built was one of their best pieces of work ever in Duo’s opinion, but it’d still been close to three years since anyone had done a serious upgrade or update. It was probably going to take days—if not weeks—though.

“When am I heading back?” he asked.

“I can get you on a flight out of LaGuardia at 1800.”

“No can do. Get me something for tomorrow morning.”

“That wasn’t a request, _Agent_ ,” Une said, her best Lady Une tone coming out, which meant she was seriously pissed.

Lucky for him, he’d been immune to it since the moon base. “I have something I need to do today. I was planning to do it this evening, but if you need me to, I can do it this afternoon. If you want to put me on a red-eye, that works, but I really have to do this,” he said, irritated by the fact that Averson was standing there, blatantly listening at least to Duo’s side of the conversation.

“And what is so important?” she demanded.

He sighed. He’d really rather that Averson wasn’t there, but asking him to leave would make him beyond suspicious. “Jesus was cremated this morning,” he said. She didn’t need to know what he felt like he needed to do with those ashes, but she’d at least get that he needed a little bit of time to say goodbye.

She was quiet for long enough that he was starting to wonder if he was going to have to go AWOL to do this. “I’ll have Isolde find an evening flight and send you the details.”

Duo couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Isolde hasn’t left you to crash and burn on your own?” he teased. Isolde Gunnerson was Une’s administrative assistant—call her a secretary at your own risk—but she’d been Duo’s most successful non-pilot partner before that. She was unfailingly sunny, insanely competent, and had the unique ability to bully even Une when necessary. She was also a sharpshooter who competed as a hobby. As far as Duo was concerned, anyone who worked directly with Une was required to be a certain level of terrifying. Even after their partnership ended, they used to make a point of getting lunch together at least once every other week.

“She misses you too, Maxwell,” Une assured. “And says you owe her at least three rounds at On Your Six.”

“Tell her ‘done’,” he said, surprised to find he was looking forward to seeing her. Once Heero had been hurt in the Jackson-Stryker Building, Duo had pulled away from everyone who hadn’t been a pilot. He was relieved that Isolde didn’t seem willing to be collateral from that nightmarish time. “And thanks, _Anya_.” He didn’t know anyone else who used the Russian diminutive with her. It was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

“I look forward to seeing you in person, Duo. Give me back to Averson before you go.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shifted the urn to one hand, showed off Jesus's ring on his thumb, then reached up to peel down the collar of his shirt, showing her the tattooed side of his neck. "I have better memorials than dust," he said.

Averson wasn't happy about Duo walking out of his building and city for the foreseeable future, but he didn't have much of a choice. Duo swung by the funeral home that had picked up Jesus's body the previous night and cremated it that morning. Duo had selected a plain black urn for the ashes, and he picked that up before swinging back to the hotel room he had dropped his bag off at that morning. Quatre had a standing room guarantee at all of his properties for the other pilots, should they ever need it. In six years, Duo had rarely availed himself of the courtesy, but under the circumstances, it was nice to have a soft spot to land. 

Then it was off to the home of Soledad Reyes. He caught a bus to take him half the way, checking in with Quat before taking the battery out of the phone and turning it off. Even Tony Stark couldn’t make it run without the battery, and Duo didn’t want to be found. He switched buses twice more before he got off, about an hour and much further from city center than he'd been.

There was still the better part of a mile to walk when Duo got off the bus, but this wasn’t a touristy area. There was a relatively close subway station, and that was all the locals needed. The area he stepped into was a mini city within a city, where immigrants from Spanish-speaking countries banded together in shitty apartment buildings and local small businesses thrived. Duo was familiar with the territory only in passing because while it _had_ been Kings territory, Jesus had kept his men here more to peacekeeping forces than to business-growing forces. He recruited heavily from the area, but crime—other than discouraging trespassing from other cartels and gangs—was largely absent. If his mother lived here, it suddenly made a lot of sense.

He got suspicious looks as he walked along, but no one approached and the few that met his eyes looked away quickly. Without the skull face paint distorting his features and his hair in a normal braid rather than its tight bun, he seemed out of place, but not familiar. No one seemed willing to start a fight in Jesus Reyes’s mother’s neighborhood so soon after his death for now. He might have to be a bit careful going back though.

He probably wouldn’t be. Shini thrummed with the possibility of violence.

Not yet though. Next to a tenement that had seven different countries’ flags flying out their windows was a small, well-kept house. Finding a place like that was a minor miracle, but if anyone could afford to make it stay what it was, Jesus certainly had been able to.

Duo climbed the steps, not bothering to look for threats. This woman hated violence enough to refuse to talk to Jesus for years. She wasn’t going to invite him into her home to do him harm. He knocked with a heavy hand, making sure the sound would carry through the house.

It only took a couple minutes for the door to open. Soledad Reyes would have had a hard time denying Jesus. Duo had never really thought of Jesus as pretty before, but looking at his mother, he could see that all of the features that made Jesus attractive had come from his mother. The shape of his mouth and eyes, the shadow of a dimple on her chin, the elegant curve of his brow—they were all Soledad’s provenance. In her sixties now, she was still a striking woman. She must have been an absolute knockout when she was young.

Duo took off his sunglasses. “Señora Reyes?"

"Yes?" she asked, but she looked like she knew who he was. 

"Duo Reyes-Maxwell. I'm sorry for the delayed notification, but your son, Jesus Reyes, was killed in a police shootout four days ago. As his husband, his body was released to me yesterday. I had him cremated this morning." He held out the urn. "Marianna asked me to give them to you."

She looked him over, giving nothing away on her face. “You are his Gemelo.”

Not exactly a question, but Duo answered anyway. “I am.”

"You don't wish to keep them?"

He shifted the urn to one hand, showed off Jesus's ring on his thumb, then reached up to peel down the collar of his shirt, showing her the tattooed side of his neck. "I have better memorials than dust," he said. 

She sniffed. “You wait until my son is in the ground to come see me,” she said, and he could hear Jesus’s particular accent in her words. “Not a very dutiful son.”

“I know they say not to speak ill of the dead, but I wasn’t going to go against my husband’s will to meet his mother.”

Grief and pain lined her face, aging her ten years.

“He always was a stupid boy,” she said, sorrow thick in her throat. “Come in. We have much to talk about.”

“I really can’t stay—”

“Come. In.”

That was a command Duo knew better than to argue with. He followed her in, past a front sitting room and into a hallway. The walls were lined with pictures, most of them old. Duo pulled up short finding what was certainly a baby picture of Jesus. His heart clenched, imagining Jesus’s dark eyes staring at him out of a tiny face.

“Gemelo.” Soledad stuck her head out into the hall, and Duo realized he had nearly taken the frame off the wall. He let go of it like it was on fire and followed her, ignoring her too-knowing eyes to step into a small kitchen.

“Do you… want these? Anywhere in particular or at all?” he asked, shifting the urn from one to both hands.

“I will keep them,” she said with a sigh. “He can go next to his brother.” She motioned to a nook in the wall that had another urn.

Duo turned to stare. “Brother?” he asked.

“I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you,” she said, going to a pot of coffee. A warm pot of coffee at all hours was something Jesus always insisted on. Now he knew where the habit was from. His eyes found a picture of a young Jesus, a girl he recognized as Marianna, and another younger boy, maybe ten. Jesus must have been in his late teens in the picture. “That was taken a few weeks before Gabriel passed,” she said.

“What happened?” he asked, surprised by the kindness in Jesus’s eyes. Jesus was many things, but kind wasn’t one of them.

“Hit and run,” Soledad replied, setting a cup of coffee on the table for him. Duo recognized from the simplicity of the answer that the pain was old and familiar. “I lost both my boys that day.”

He didn’t need to ask what happened. “They never found out who did it, and the police were less than concerned about a dead Mexican kid in a Spanish neighborhood,” he said. He had seen more than enough indifferent police in his life to know the type. He took the cup and sipped at it. He preferred to sweeten it generally, but he didn’t want to take the time.

She hummed in agreement.

“So Jesus decided he’d find them and do whatever was necessary to punish them. Who needed the cops if they weren’t going to help innocent kids?” His voice was tired because it was almost cliché. Racial prejudice wasn’t as prevalent in the colonies as classist prejudice was, but they were different flavors of the same disease. He wanted Shini to stir in rage at the unfairness, but Death didn’t care about fair. It took everyone, sooner or later; the only true equalizer. “And so he becomes the greater monster.”

“Disappointed?”

Duo turned back to her, curious at the tone. “About what?”

“That his story is so mundane? That he didn’t tell you?” She watched him with keen eyes, a fresh mug of coffee in her own hands.

“No,” Duo told her truthfully. “Not even all that surprised. I’m sure he found and killed whoever was responsible a long time ago. There’s really nothing more I could have done for him.”

“So casual about murder,” she commented, a little bit disgusted as she sat down at the table.

He raised an eyebrow at her and pointed out, “I did marry your son. Call me crazy, but no one gets involved with a man like Jesus Reyes without a certain level of comfort with violence.”

She looked at him hard, a nail tinkling against the mug as she tapped it while she thought. “You really weren’t afraid of him, were you?”

A grin curled his lip, and it wasn’t a nice one. “People make that mistake a lot—thinking Jesus was the dangerous one in our relationship.” He took another mouthful of the coffee. Considering it was black, it was pretty good.

There was no reaction for a moment before she sighed. “I had wondered what he might have seen in a boy like you.”

“All respect due, you don’t know shit about me, and you probably don’t know anyone like me.”

She chuckled, a humorless sound. “No wonder he liked you so much.”

Duo wouldn’t pretend to make sense of why she seemed pleased by that. He took a few deep gulps, finishing off his coffee. “I really do need to go,” he said, taking the mug to the sink to wash it.

“Very well. When you come back, you will come see me again.”

He paused and looked at her over his shoulder, bemused. “Jesus used to do that, you know? Just command people and act like obedience was a foregone conclusion.”

“Then he learned well. You will come see me, _mijo_.”

“ _Mijo_?” he asked, suppressing a grin, rinsing the last of the suds from the mug before setting it on a drying rack next to the sink.

“The husband of my son is my son as well. You _will_ come see me. Jesus left something for you with me.”

Okay, he’d bite. “And I can’t have it now?”

“You can have it when you come back to see me.”

Duo didn’t even know when Jesus had seen his mother, much less left something for Duo with her. He did need to get on a plane and get to Brussels, and he wasn’t willing to hurt or steal from her, so he supposed he would be coming back.

“Why do you even want anything to do with me?” he had to ask. “I could be worse than Jesus for all you know.”

“You’re not,” she said, certainty that she did not deserve in her voice. “You knew the monster, yes, but you loved the man.”

He really couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

Duo stared at Happy Hogan, who was waiting with a sign that read “Duo Reyes-Maxwell” on it, facing the incoming travelers. Duo literally had not even set foot into the airport before being sidelined by Stark. How did Stark even know which terminal he’d be leaving through? There had to be at least three airlines that he could have used. Behind him, he spotted another Avenger—the archery dude?—chilling on a bench and doing a decent job of looking innocuous. He knew they hadn’t seen him yet, but he also knew if he slipped their net, there would be hell to pay.

With a sigh, he approached Happy.

“Hi, Mr. Reyes-Maxwell,” Stark’s chauffeur greeted warmly. “We’ve got a plane ready for your flight to Brussels, if you’d like to follow us.”

Archer-dude popped up and strolled toward them lazily. “Surprised, kid?” he asked.

“Yes,” Duo admitted, a little biting, “and trying to figure out why. Has Stark ever met a boundary he didn’t feel compelled to stomp all over?”

“Never,” Archer-dude assured.

“You can’t just pretend you never saw me come through?” he asked, rubbing his temple.

“Nope,” Happy said, far too cheerful for Duo’s taste.

Resisting the urge to pull on his braid, he looked at Archer-dude. They hadn’t been formally introduced, and he hadn’t been around when Duo had made breakfast that morning. Something in his posture told Duo he was irritated at the whole thing. “Why you?” he asked, annoyed.

“Why me, what?”

“Why are you here at all?” Duo asked. “As far as I can tell, you don’t like him and there’s no reason for you to give a damn about me.”

Archer-dude blinked at him. “What makes you think I don’t like him?”

Surprised but not denying it. “Tell your boss I’ll catch my own flight, thanks,” Duo said, ignoring the question.

He sensed Archer-dude reach out for him and moved out of the way, leveling a glare at him. He pulled his hands back, holding them up in a calming gesture. “Look, Stark’s not my favorite person, but I can admit we all owe him for clearing us and taking us back.”

“Ouch,” Duo said, droll. “It looked like that hurt.”

“Aren’t you just a chip off the fucking block?” Archer-dude snarked back.

That was meant to be derisive, but Duo had to bite back a laugh. Chip off the block? That was hysterical. Stark was no killer. He might kill to protect himself, to protect others, but he would never, could never kill in cold blood. This one was different. Shini knew this one.

“Look, will you just come with us?”

Duo wanted to say no, but someone caught his eye. Something about the way the guy was moving threw up flags. It was casually purposeful, but it was fake purpose. It was the kind of purpose that said “I belong here,” except the guy wasn’t very good at it.

The man was making a casual beeline for Duo. Duo stepped to the side just as the guy was about to bump him, dropping his bag and grabbing the guy’s arm. He moved to put the guy on the ground, only to watch him go down with a solid punch from Happy.

Blinking, Duo stared stupidly at the guy. From the look of him, he was just a pickpocket—and not an especially good one if Happy had picked him out. A few valuables spilled from his pockets as hit the ground. The guy groaned and Duo sighed, relaxing his arm as he knelt down beside the guy.

“I’m so sorry. I meant to clothesline him,” Happy said, sounding embarrassed. “I didn’t expect you to grab him like that.”

"It’s fine,” Duo said, taking note of the cop running their way as he frisked the barely conscious guy. By the time the cop showed up, Duo had a nice pile of jewelry—particularly rings, bracelets, and watches. The guy must have been going for Duo’s rings, which, actually made him better than Duo would have thought. Or maybe Happy was more observant than Duo would have expected.

“Hey, Officer—Anderson?” Duo about choked on his tongue when he looked up and saw who the cop was.

Reese Anderson—who had been undercover with Duo as Enrique, “call me Rico,” Andrews—was staring at him. “Gemelo,” he said, because nearly two years of calling Duo that had stuck.

Duo recovered more quickly than Anderson did. “This is perfect. Why don’t you wrap things up with young and dumb here, and take him in, and I don’t have to miss my plane.”

Anderson looked annoyed, which was fine, because Duo was used to that look. He had saved Anderson’s ass enough times that he didn’t deserve it, but he was used to it. A second security cop ran up, gun out, but pointed at the ground.

“Step away…” the cop trailed off.

“Preventer Agent Darkside,” Duo said, using his spare hand to pull out his credentials. “If you don’t mind tossing me your cuffs before this idiot wakes up?”

Anderson beat the rookie to the punch, tossing Duo his cuffs. “It’s okay, Kaufman,” he assured the other cop. “I know Darkside. I take it you made him?”

“I tend to notice when people are targeting me, yes,” he said, a little dryly as he cuffed the guy.

Anderson glared.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t deck him.”

“You wouldn’t bother,” Anderson said, but at least he knelt by the guy, who was coming around, gathering up the pile of stolen jewelry. “You’d have gutted him,” he added under his breath.

“He’s a pickpocket,” Duo said, offended. “And a particularly desperate or stupid one to be lifting here in broad daylight.” He paused and gave Anderson a onceover. “I’m surprised you’re not on lockdown,” Duo said, low, reaching up to put pressure on the guy’s carotid to keep him out.

“I could say the same for you,” Anderson grumped at him. He was always grumpy with Duo.

“I’ve been recalled to Brussels. Your excuse?”

“Better to keep me out of sight, out of mind.”

“So you get the shit jobs for now.”

“Basically.” He sighed, annoyed. “Kaufman, take our friend here. I’ll take Darkside and these…” He eyed Archer-dude and Happy up and down. “…Gentlemen to get their statements.”

“Duo?” Happy said.

“Yeah?” Duo asked, wishing this day would just end already.

“I don’t think you’re going to make your flight.”

“No, Happy, doesn’t look like I will.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Christ, Stark. Is that where the stripper pole was?” Hawkeye shot over Duo’s shoulder, ignoring him.
> 
> “I forgot it was here, okay?”
> 
> “You forgot?”

When Stark had his harebrained idea to use his own personal jet to take his kid to Brussels, Natasha had voluntold Clint to fly it and asked him to keep an eye on the kid. Clint had, because, well, Natasha, but he hadn't been happy about it. He hadn't really interacted with the kid, but he kind of understood why Natasha wanted to keep an eye on him now. 

The kid had been irritated to see him and Happy waiting for him, but it was a long-suffering irritation that suggested he had been victim of similar behavior before. Then something had changed and Maxwell had gone from a borderline petulant teen to... something else. 

Clint thought Happy had seen the pickpocket before Maxwell had. Clint almost moved to grab him, but in a moment, Maxwell went from in the way, to out of the way, yanking the man’s arm. Maxwell moving had thrown off Happy’s prep, and instead of using some of his momentum to get Maxwell out of the way, it all slammed into the idiot. 

Thinking back to that moment, there had been that heartbeat where everything felt like it slowed, a moment where Maxwell had grabbed the man, and for just a heartbeat, it felt like he could have done worse. 

It had been gone so fast, and if Clint were anyone else, he might have thought he imagined it. Between blinks, Maxwell turned into a competent and cool agent. If he was bothered by the violence, he showed no sign of it. If Clint had doubts that Maxwell was a Preventer agent, his handling of the suspect and the cop—Anderson—dismissed them. He was familiar with protocols, level-headed, and was nothing but professional. He wasn't intimidated, instead, he acted like a ranking agent, which was interesting. Maxwell was _used_ to being in command and control. 

Now that he thought about it, it was strange for Maxwell to be so comfortable in a position of authority. At best, he had six years under his belt, but two of them were undercover. Did Une really put a sixteen or even a twenty-year-old in leadership positions? Even if he had experience, putting someone of Maxwell's age and stature in charge was _asking_ for trouble. Who would respect him? _Clint_ could probably toss him around like a potato sack, and he wasn't the biggest or strongest of the Avengers by a long shot.

Then again, he really shouldn't measure by _Avengers_ standards. No one in SHIELD would have taken a teenager seriously unless they were in some sort of nifty superhero outfit. Even assuming the best-case scenario of twenty, Maxwell would have passed for sixteen, and Clint just couldn't see any SHIELD team worth the name being willing to take orders from the brat. Whatever Une was smoking, he kind of wanted some. 

They were all quiet as Anderson escorted them to a small room to take their statements. He started with Happy, only to be tripped up by the employment question. 

"You work for Tony Stark?" Anderson asked, looking between Happy and a seemingly bored Maxwell. 

"Yes, sir."

Anderson rubbed his eyes. "Do I want to know what you're doing with Tony Stark's bodyguard?" he asked, clearly directed at Maxwell. 

"No, you definitely do not," Maxwell replied.

"Was that even your real badge you flashed?”

Maxwell didn't hesitate before pulling it out of an inside jacket pocket. He tossed it at Anderson, who caught it. Anderson looked it over, looked up at Maxwell through hooded, suspicious eyes, and said, "This says Reyes-Maxwell."

"Une expedited the update," Maxwell informed, with an air of _shucks, it was nice of her, wasn't it?_

"You really want to claim that name?" Anderson asked with a sigh, tossing the badge back. Maxwell tucked it away with the thoughtlessness of habit. "It's going to cause you problems."

"I knew what I was doing when I took it," Maxwell replied, still apparently easygoing, a smile playing at his lips.

Anderson met his eyes. "Did you? Really?" he asked seriously. "Did you really understand what you were getting into when you took this job?"

Maxwell slunk forward, putting his elbows on the table, bending over, propping his chin on his hands, enough inside Anderson's space to make him jerk back. Clint had seen Natasha use that trick—turning on the sex appeal like a switch—and it was no less unnerving to watch Maxwell do it. It might actually be _more_ unnerving because the kid was barely more than a kid, and because few men learned it at all. He wondered if Maxwell would have done it had Stark been in the room instead of Happy, who probably didn't understand what had just happened, and Clint, who he clearly didn't give a damn about. "Do you really think I don't know how to deal with a monster, _Rico_?" he all but purred, rolling the _r_ like he was born to it. 

"Fucking hell," Anderson snapped, jumping out of his seat. Maxwell laughed and stood back up, all the sultry, slinky promise gone as if it had never been. "You're a goddamned menace is what you are," he huffed. 

Clint blinked, feeling like he'd missed something. He didn't miss things. Then he really looked at Anderson, whose eyes were averted, arms crossed in front of him, a faint flush to his cheeks. 

Damn. Anderson was attracted to Maxwell—and Maxwell _knew_ it. Clint took a hard look at Maxwell, ignoring the height for the moment. It was mostly his stature that made him so easy to mistake for being a teenager. Maxwell was thin, verging on scrawny, but solid, corded muscles showed in his forearms when he flexed certain ways. Large hands, shoulders that, when he stood upright, had the breadth of full growth. He was small, but he wasn't like the Spider-kid, still growing into his body. Physically, he was a man. 

Guys had never done it for Clint, but objectively, he could see the appeal, especially if eyes or hair was your thing. Though even if he liked guys, Maxwell wouldn't flip his switch. He hit Clint's radar as the wrong side of too young—closer in age to Lila than to Clint, and _ugh_ , wasn't that a thought he wished he'd never had? But even if he weren't, there was something about Maxwell that reminded Clint of Natasha, and it wasn't in a good way. Something predatory. 

Stark thought his kid was just a hacker; Natasha thought he might be something more. Clint was putting his money on Natasha. 

* * *

After Duo’s little trick, Anderson rushed them through their statements as quickly as possible, but not quickly enough for Duo to make his flight—he’d been cutting it finer than advised to begin with—which meant his options were take Stark's offer or catch a later flight. 

Duo was sorely tempted to take the later flight, but honestly, the direct flight on the private jet would be faster, and dealing with security would be way less of a headache. His badge would probably get him through with his bag intact, but on the private jet, chances were good that no one was even going to look at it. 

Still, it grated to be manipulated like this. He didn't like it when Quatre did it, and Quat was family. Stark might be blood, but that didn't make him family. Not yet, maybe not ever. 

Despite the convenience factor, Duo was still seriously considering alternatives when he climbed the small stairway to board the G6. Once he stepped inside, he stopped and stared and considered that commandeering a small private plane was really looking like a great option.

Stark was repairing something on the floor of the jet. Duo looked up at the ceiling and an old rumor clicked. Stark had removed the stripper pole. Judging from the uncomfortable expression on Stark’s face, it couldn’t be anything but.

“I can explain,” Stark said.

“Hey, kid, move it,” Archer-dude—whose name was actually Clint Barton or Hawkeye—said from behind him.

Duo moved in enough that Hawkeye could get around him, and let himself be distracted since he honestly didn’t want to know whatever Stark’s excuse was.

“Are you going to be flying this thing?” he asked as Hawkeye moved toward the cockpit.

“You got a problem with that?”

“Do you really know how to fly?”

“Yes, kid, I know how to fly this,” Hawkeye replied, looking amused.

Duo was getting sick of being called kid. He also hated that protesting he wasn’t a kid was pretty much the perfect way to _sound_ like a kid. “Duo or Maxwell. Hell, _Darkside_ , if it makes you happy. Even Reyes,” he said. He didn’t say _not kid_ , but it was impossible not to hear it.

“Christ, Stark. Is that where the stripper pole was?” Hawkeye shot over Duo’s shoulder, ignoring him.

“I forgot it was here, okay?”

“You _forgot_?” Hawkeye squawked.

“I haven’t used this jet in years. I honestly forgot about it.”

Both Hawkeye and Duo stared at him, because, okay, Stark was rich as fucking Midas, but rich enough to own a very expensive plane that he hadn’t used in _years_?

"I got Pepper a new jet after I made her CEO and, well, I just kind of forgot about this one... and the stripper pole," Stark said. "Since I built the armor, I pretty much just fly myself around or use the Quinjet."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes and went into the cockpit while Duo tossed himself into an oversized, sinfully comfortable chair, and dropped his bag by his feet. He buckled in automatically and tried to remember that Stark was a genius, a supergenius, really, and that under virtually any other circumstances, Duo would be ecstatic for the chance to pick his brain. 

Now it felt like the chance to do so came with conditions and required concessions. Want to talk shop? That means spending time with _dad_ , acknowledging they had a connection. It probably came with personal questions Duo wasn't going to answer, personal anecdotes about Stark that he didn't care about. Stark's desire for a connection was painfully transparent. Was the man just that affection-starved? 

So what if he was? That didn't make it Duo's problem. 

"Hey, kids, we're cleared, so buckle up and let's blow this pop stand," Hawkeye's voice came over the speaker. 

Giving the plate one last pound, Stark looked like he wanted to make it Duo's problem as he turned around the seat in front of Duo and sat down in it, buckling up. 

"Please don't tell me that the whole point of doing this is to lock me in a tin can for five and a half hours," he said. 

Stark opened his mouth, paused, then eyed Duo with far too much intelligence. "How did you know the flight would be five and a half hours? Commercial flights—even direct—are over seven."

Duo sighed. "Average cruising speed for this baby is just under Mach 1. There's 3600-ish miles between New York and Brussels. I ballparked." 

"You know the average cruising speed for a G6?"

"I know the average cruising speed for most of the most common aircraft. Why?" 

"Plane enthusiast?" Stark asked, looking curious and a little excited. 

"Good memory," Duo said, trying to keep the answer as short and uninviting as possible and staring out the window at the tarmac as they moved.

* * *

Tony sighed. “I get that you aren’t really interested in me,” he said. Duo looked at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrow raised as if to say _go on_. “If you give me a chance and don’t like me… I’ll back off, okay? But you got to give me a chance.” He held his breath, crossing his fingers mentally.

It was Duo’s turn to sigh. “You do realize it really isn’t you, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, you’d be just as disinterested in anyone else.” Tony waved him off. Maybe it was true to a degree, but Duo’s aggressive indifference was hard to imagine being directed toward some average guy. Tony really looked at him and noticed the lines of exhaustion that were still carved under his eyes. They weren’t as bad as last night, but they were still noticeable. “You still look really tired. Do you want to catch a few winks while we’re flying?”

Duo hesitated, catching Tony’s implied out, but shook his head. “Not to say that I don’t trust your guy…”

“But you don’t trust my guy,” Tony finished for him. “He’s not my guy, by the way. He’s Clint Barton, aka Hawkguy. But he is a good pilot.” Among the Avengers, he was the best pilot. Cap and Natasha knew enough to keep something in the air, but other than Rhodey, there weren’t any real pilots in the Avengers.

“It’s Hawk _eye_ ,” Barton’s voice floated from the cockpit.

“I just don’t like to sleep on a ship if I don’t know the pilot,” he said.

Duo stared out the window, chin propped on a fist, but those purple eyes were much farther away than the tarmac.

“Do you play any games?” Tony asked.

“Games?” Duo asked, surprised enough to turn his head toward Tony.

“Chess, checkers, and the like?” he clarified.

“Oh, those.” His eyes cleared and he seemed to be a little more with it. “Sure, I know how to play. I’m not very good, but I can play. I know Xiangqi and Go too.”

Tony was surprised. “They more popular in the colonies?”

Duo scratched the side of his face thoughtfully. “Xiangqi and Go were both really popular on L5, not surprisingly. The friend who taught me is from there.” His eyes softened, and whoever he was thinking about was someone he must be close to. “I’m not so sure on the other colonies. Spacers tend toward the card games—poker, gin.”

“Would you rather play a card game?”

“Nah. Chess is fine.”

Tony pulled his phone out. “FRI—give us a chess setup,” he told her. His phone projected a chessboard. Duo’s eyebrows rose.

“I thought your AI ran the Tower?” Duo said, curious and a little cautious.

“She runs the armor too. And I always have her on my phone.” He couldn’t decide what expression was on Duo’s face, so he asked, “What?”

“Just… kinda creepy. That’s all.” His eyes were on the board as he said it. FRIDAY had given Duo white because she was a smart girl.

“Creepy!” Tony protested. “Wait—is that why you didn’t want to stay in the Tower?”

“Didn’t help,” Duo admitted. “It’s definitely shades of Big Brother, don’t you think?”

“I think,” Tony said, struggling to keep from spluttering, “that I have half a dozen professional paranoids living in the Tower, and if they don’t freak out about FRIDAY, maybe you shouldn’t either.”

Duo shrugged, not bothered by the criticism. “Pawn to E4,” he said.

Tony made his first move, watching Duo more than really paying attention to the game as the next few moves played out. If Duo wasn’t any good at it, he’d have to be careful not to end it too—

“Checkmate.”

Tony blinked down at the board, and somehow he’d lost track of that bishop. Duo had checkmate. Tony stared at the board, rewinding to see how that had happened so neatly. Then he looked up and met Duo’s eyes. “Who told you that you weren’t good at chess?” he asked.

“No one, really. I just never win when I play my friends.”

“Reset it, FRI,” Tony told his phone, sitting back a little, watching Duo again. “Why do you play if you never win?”

Duo gave him a strange look. “Because they like to play and most of our friends won’t play with them anymore.” He made his first move.

“Not competitive?” Tony asked, surprised, making his first reply.

“Selectively competitive,” Duo corrected. “I know when I’m playing a game I can’t win. It’s just fun to watch them having fun, even if I can’t win.”

“So you have two friends you play with mostly? Why don’t they play each other?”

“You’ve met Wufei, right?”

“Met is probably a generous term, but Chang? Yes, we’ve… spoken.”

Duo grinned, amused and affectionate. “I play Go and Xiangqi with Fei. But we have a mutual friend, Cat. Cat always kicks Fei’s ass in both of those and in chess, and Fei is _super_ competitive. He gets mad, so they don’t play.”

He hesitated before saying, “Have you considered that you’re not bad at chess, you just play with people who are really good?”

For a moment, Duo blinked at him; then he chuckled. “Probably,” he admitted. “Who do you play with?”

“Bruce, mostly.”

“Does he ever win?”

“About 60% of the time. He’s more patient than I am.”

“Anyone else?” Duo asked.

He didn’t really want to answer, but Duo was asking him questions for the first time, and Tony was afraid that being reticent would stop the questions. “Cap and I used to play.”

“Who’d win?”

“About 50-50,” Tony admitted. “He may not look like it, but Cap’s a tactical genius.” He moved his knight. “Checkmate.”

A small smile crossed Duo’s lips. “Do you play Go or Xiangqi?” he asked, sitting back.

“No, actually.”

“Want to learn? I’m assuming your phone can do this”—He waved his hand in the general direction of the projected board—“for either of those boards.”

“Sure—if you’re willing to teach.”

“We’ve got the better part of five hours left in this flight. Might as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xiangqi is also known as Chinese chess. I figured Duo would call it by its actual name (because I can’t see Wufei tolerating it being called “Chinese chess”) and I think Tony would be at least familiar with the name.


	13. Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I guess getting kidnapped and our mysterious rescue being romanticized for the world to gush over has its uses?"

Oliviana's badly suppressed squeal of excitement cut through Heero's concentration. He gave up on the dust-dry tax law textbook, and looked over the back of the couch. "What caused that?" he asked. 

She showed him an ornate—even by her standards—envelope, almost vibrating, and with such a big smile it probably hurt. He raised an eyebrow in silent query, and succeeded in getting a huff. 

"It's an invitation to the MET Gala this year," she said. "Addressed to us both."

He blinked, wondering what had changed that she had finally scored the publicity—oh. 

"I guess getting kidnapped and our mysterious rescue being romanticized for the world to gush over has its uses?" he said, not quite a question. He was sorry when the reminder dimmed her enthusiasm, even though just thinking about how many cameras would be on him at the Gala gave him anxiety. 

She circled the couch to sit down next to him. “If you really don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” she said, serious.

Heero stared. “You’ve dreamed about this forever,” he said.

“Yes, but… I think you’re right, about why we got an invitation,” she said, fingering the card. “I’m sure we’ll be asked questions about it.” She frowned and put the invitation back into the envelope. “I don’t want to be invited for being a victim.”

She looked at the envelope in her hands, and Heero couldn’t think of much he wouldn’t do to keep that look of disappointment off her face.

He reached out to brush a long bang behind her ear. “We can go,” he said.

She looked at him, and he ran a thumb over the furrow in her brows, succeeding in smoothing the frown away. “But—”

“You know that the events and galas and… stuff aren’t my favorite things, but they are a part of your life. I knew that when I asked you to marry me.”

“No, you’re right—”

“Liv,” he interrupted, and made her meet his eyes. “We can go.”

“You hate these things though.”

He rolled his eyes. “My life is so terrible. My fiancée wants me to go with her to one of the biggest and exclusive social events in the world.” He gave her a small smile and got one in return. “Would I rather not go? Okay, I’d rather not, but I’m not going to be what keeps you from this. And I’m not going to let you go without me.”

“Even if they’re probably going to split us up?” she asked, and something in her eyes waited for the letdown.

“Even if they’re probably going to split us up.” 

She gave him a small chuckle, but it was a concession. "You know I don't always love all the events either…”

“But this one is special,” Heero finished for her. She nodded. “So we’ll go.”

"So we’ll go," she agreed, leaning into him, slipping her shoes off and tucking her feet up under her. She held the invitation in her hands like it was precious before she sat up like she’d been poked. "What am I going to wear?" 

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," he said, trying not to laugh.

"You don't understand—"

"That people usually plan these things months if not years in advance?" She glared, and he just said, "See? I listen when you talk." 

She sighed. "I suppose we can just get you a new suit."

"I don't need another suit, much less another one that costs five figures." He saw the contemplative look in her eye and felt it necessary to add, "And if you start talking six figures, I take it back."

She huffed like _he_ was the one being unreasonable. 

"What are you so worried about anyway? You know Alessandra would literally sell her firstborn child for a chance to dress someone for the MET Gala.”

She tilted her head in that way she did when he had a point but she was still annoyed with him. "The timeline is tight, but it would be an amazing chance to show her off, wouldn’t it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Those crazy people on that runway show you like so much put up stuff in like two days. I think Alessandra can figure out something in a month.”

She gave him a cool look. "You remember that people plan for the MET Gala years in advance, but you can't remember the title of my favorite TV show?" she asked. 

"Your favorite guilty pleasure," he corrected. "And I listen to you. I draw the line at retaining anything from a reality TV show—especially one about _fashion_." 

Oliviana laughed at the way he said it like a dirty word. 

"If I let you, you'd walk around in jeans and a tank top and those awful yellow boots," she accused. 

"It's practical and comfortable!" he protested, then made a face. "And they’re tan,” he felt it necessary to defend.

"They are yellow and hideous."

“Just for that, I think I’ll wear them with my suit. It would probably start a trend.”

He had to laugh at the horrified look on her face. “You _wouldn’t_.”

It was too easy to add fuel to the fire. “I bet Alessandra could make a dress to match them.”

The outrage was quickly replaced by a sly grin, and Heero knew he was in trouble. “I’m sure she would if that’s the statement you want to make.”

“Wait—no, you’d be in the dress,” he said, backtracking.

“Oh no,” she said, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “I think yellow would be a great color on you.”

Oliviana began to slink toward him, and he backed up against the arm of the couch. Heero loved her like this—eyes on his, hair loose, and not afraid to show him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her—which gave him an idea. He propped a leg on the couch, leaving the other on the floor, and gave her his best shit-eating grin. “You would risk sharing me with the whole world like that?”

Her eyes ran up his chest before holding his gaze again. “Maybe not,” she conceded, moving between his spread legs and stretching up to kiss him. He let her control the kiss for a minute before he shifted his weight and flipped them, getting a surprised shriek and laugh out of her as he reversed their positions.

“Guess I’ll have to convince you,” he said, trying for at least a façade of seriousness, and failing terribly from the way Oliviana was trying not to laugh.

“Will you now?” she teased, eyes dancing in delight as he settled a hand on her waist and buried the other in her thick hair.

“Yeah,” he said, and even he could hear the tenderness in his voice. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Liv's favorite guilty pleasure is Project Runway. No, I'm not sorry.  
> If you look up the work boots that approximate the ones Heero wore, they are kind of a yellow tan. They're still hideous.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have this incredible chance to get to know your biological father. Why wouldn’t you take that?”

“Everything’s up and in working order again?” Une asked, critically eyeing the agent sprawled in a chair across from her desk.

“Scrubbed, updated, refreshed. You know, all the shit you should have had someone else maintaining for the past three years, but for some unfathomable reason _didn’t_.” Duo lifted his head from where it had been hanging over the back of the chair and glared at her. “I also threw in some fun new security upgrades I came up with after picking Stark’s brain on some of his AI’s coding.”

“He actually gave you details?” she asked.

“Eh, more like tips. Ways to think about the coding rather than anything concrete in his code. Useful though.”

“Three years of maintenance in three weeks,” Une commented. “Not too bad, I think. Though if you’d like to hang around for at least a couple more weeks, I could use your help with something else.”

Duo raised an eyebrow as she pushed a tablet over to him. She kept quiet, instead letting his curiosity win out. He grabbed the tablet, opened the file up, then groaned. “Personnel reassignments?”

“Sally hasn’t had time to help with them in over a year. We’ve had HR doing them but—”

"But HR is good for personality assessments, and not much else,” Duo finished for her, resignation in his voice, and she knew she had won as he began to click through the files.

Une allowed herself a little smile. He still looked tired, was still too thin, still not eating or sleeping enough. Even so, he looked better than he had when he’d shown up three weeks ago, and was miles better than the walking corpse he was imitating when she’d sent him undercover two years ago. Nine months after losing Heero, he’d been a ghost of himself—skinny under the best of circumstances, he’d been near skeletal. His skin stretched across his face like a mask, eyes sunken, bags deep and dark enough to look like bruises. More frightening than the physical signs of decline had been the wildness in his eyes. She didn’t blame people for refusing to work with him.

Officially, he’d been living from one dangerous, life-threatening mission to another. In her heart, Une had known he’d been living from one kill to the next. The jokes and warm smiles and happy laughter had gone, leaving silence, eerie grins, and chilling cackles. The God of Death had walked in the daytime, walked among civilians, and Une could not blame the agents who feared he would snap and turn on them—she wasn’t sure they were wrong.

When she pulled him out of the field, she’d been terrified he’d do something unfortunate. The opportunity to send him undercover with the Kings popped up right on the heels of that horrible fight that ended with Duo walking out without his gun and badge. The publicity surrounding Duo’s departure provided a unique opportunity to put one of her highest profile agents undercover. She refused his impromptu resignation and sent him the information, praying the long-term nature of the mission would help him find his feet.

She wouldn’t have sent him if she knew how bad it really was, but she didn’t find out until she went to clean out his old apartment and found the floor littered with dozens of unspent rounds. More than a few showed signs of a light strike—that the hammer had connected but not hard enough to ignite the powder in the bullet. She didn’t think even Duo could make a gun jam on purpose, but it looked like that’s what had happened again and again. She had Isolde help her scrub the apartment, and never mentioned the things they found there to the other pilots.

If she could have, she would have pulled him then, but aside from the postcard that showed up a few days after he left, she didn’t hear from him again until he had found an in over a month later. It turned out that the assignment did help, but not the way she’d hoped. When Duo had first told her that he had caught Reyes’s eye, she told him to pull out. She had never been in the business of whoring out her people—not even at her most ruthless. Duo had refused, and she couldn’t force him to without revealing his identity and probably getting him killed. They didn’t discuss the spent rounds. He never asked about the apartment. When he’d called her seven months ago to tell her Reyes had proposed, she feared she’d be hunting Duo before long. Seeing him so physically recovered was bittersweet. The bags and thinness seemed more ephemeral—not so entrenched. Time and Jesus Reyes seemed to have finally healed him. He’d probably always carry the scars of Heero’s loss, but the wounds he was dealing with now were the ones left by Reyes’s death.

Well, for a given definition of “dealing with.” One thing he wasn’t dealing with at all was Tony Stark. Une was getting tired of getting random emails and calls from the genius inquiring about Duo because Duo had gone dark on him.

Une probably shouldn’t give him the excuse of the personnel files to keep him in Brussels, should send him back to New York to determine what, if any role, his father would play in his life. She really did need his help though. No one but Winner had been better at making partner and team suggestions. Duo understood how to match skillsets for optimal teams, but more than that, he just… understood people and what made them tick in ways she didn’t. Neither did the well-meaning HR people who had been doing the partner assignments for the past several years. Even if it weren’t a likely conflict of interest, Winner had been too busy to help with them since before they lost Yuy, and Une knew she not only had a number of poorly matched teams already, she had a graduating rookie class that needed assigning.

Duo sighed, disrupting her thoughts, and set the tablet in his lap, turning off the screen automatically as he reached up and rubbed at his neck. “Mind if I take this back to the townhouse and start it tomorrow? I can probably have a training exercise schedule for you by Monday.” To best match agents, he’d need to see them in action. A couple days of training exercises for any still-new agents and the rookies should give him the sample size he needed to pair them more effectively.

She glanced at her watch—it was only four in the afternoon, but Duo had been working twelve-plus-hour days to get all of the Preventers systems and mainframes updated.

She still hadn’t mentioned the rounds.

“Get on out of here, Maxwell. You’ve racked up too much overtime the past three weeks anyway,” she told him, pretending to be annoyed.

“I can pick up Mei, if you want? I should have time.”

“She’d love that.”

* * *

Mariemaia Khushrenada—known these days as Maria Barton, Director Une’s adopted daughter—grinned when she saw Duo leaning against his rental car as she exited from her violin lesson. When Duo first came back, she wanted to be mad at him. She’d been hurt and angry for a long time after he left, but seeing him in person, seeing how much he was still hurting, even if he was finally healing, she just wanted her Duo- _nii_ back. Not caring if it was undignified or unladylike, she took off like a shot, not stopping until she collided with Duo, who caught her with an _oof_ , then hugged her back as tightly as she hugged him. He’d been living with them for three weeks now, and he’d been working so much, she barely had time to do more than see him in passing.

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. She’d never realized before he came back how short Duo was—he’d always seemed larger than life. Seeing him for the first time in close to three years and being eye-to-eye with him had been a shock, and she didn’t know if she’d ever get used to being the same height as her Duo- _nii_ , but Duo had taken it in stride.

His eyes were still sad, but not like they had been right after Heero had left. Then, they had been desolate, as if when Heero had lost his memory, Duo had forgotten how to be happy. He wasn’t happy, but Mei saw flashes of the warmth Duo used to have and knew that while he might not be happy yet, he hadn’t totally forgotten what it was anymore. It made her unspeakably proud that being with _her_ seemed to bring those flashes about more than anything else.

“Hey, Mashenka,” he greeted, his voice soft and warm like a favorite blanket in winter. The Russian diminutives only came out when she was particularly stressed or he was feeling particularly affectionate, so she treasured every occurrence. “You’d think you haven’t seen me in years.”

“Duo- _nii._ ” She gave a final hard squeeze, then let him go. “Why are you picking me up today?”

“I finally finished my project, and the slave driver gave me the afternoon off before I dive into the next one. Since it’s so early, I figured I’d pick you up.” He reached up and tugged gently on a lock of her long hair. “We haven’t gotten to spend enough time together since I came back.” He opened the passenger side door.

That was a regrettable truth. Duo may have been staying with Anne and her for the past three weeks, but he had been working around the clock. Mei hadn’t gotten to see him much outside of breakfast. Mei got in the car, set her bags in the back seat, then buckled in as Duo circled the car to climb into the driver’s seat.

“Did you have anything in mind?” she asked.

“How do you feel about going shopping to pick up some stuff for dinner… and maybe something to bake a surprise for Une?” he added with a wink.

Mei clapped. “May I help with dinner—and the dessert?” she asked. “I’ve been practicing, I swear!”

Her enthusiasm won her a chuckle, a small one, but getting one at all was all that mattered. “Of course, Mei-Mei,” he said, switching to his favorite nickname. “You were always a good helper. I don’t expect you to have slacked off in the last few years. Do you have anything in particular you’re in the mood for? And is Une’s favorite still pavlova?”

“Not really,” she said, “and yes, though she still tries to deny it.” She thought for a moment, wondered if Duo had kept cooking while he’d been in the United States, and decided to ask. “Is there anything you learned in the US that she might like? Your… partner was… Mexican, right?” she hesitated on the term, because she knew his name was Jesus Reyes and that he’d been a cartel lord, and Duo had been involved with him, and not much more. She could have looked him up, but it felt invasive. Duo was family, even if he’d been absent for a while. If he wanted to talk about Jesus or tell her about him, she’d let him do it in his own time. It was the least she could do when he had offered her the same courtesy when it came to her own family and experiences. He’d been better at simply listening without judgement than any psychiatrist she’d seen.

“Yup,” Duo replied readily, and she allowed herself a mental sigh of relief. “I picked up a handful of recipes. Is that import market still open in the Place Jean Rey? We’ll have to see what kind of ingredients I can get my hands on.”

“Not so much. When Anne wants imported food, she usually goes with the Gourmet Market in Sablon.”

“Of course that’s still there. Well, I don’t know if it’ll have what we’re looking for, but for non-local products, it’s probably our best bet. I doubt the local farmers’ markets even have avocados. If nothing else, I should do a traditional, from-scratch guac. It’s a totally different experience than that stuff you get in the restaurants here,” he said. “One thing New York has going for it is its international markets.”

Mei managed to suppress a laugh, but Duo caught the grin on her face. He raised an eyebrow as he drove. “What?” he asked.

“You really are a foodie,” she said, just managing to keep from laughing. “Total food snob.”

He took his hand off the gear to poke her in the side, and she giggled just like she used to. “I simply have an appreciation of good food.” He turned his attention back to the road, swerving in and out of traffic without much apparent thought. She’d heard people complain about his driving before—that he was reckless or just insane—but she always felt safe when Duo was driving. There was a strange smoothness to his driving that she found relaxing, even as he leapfrogged around traffic.

They chatted, mostly Duo asking her questions about what he’d missed, as they made their way to the marketplace. Once there, they moved among the stalls and people with ease, people moving out of the way for Duo’s Preventer uniform automatically. He got a lot of nods too. Since Preventers were headquartered in the city and had the densest agent population on or offworld, Brussels natives seemed to have decided to adopt them. They were known for working _with_ other police forces. They protected people _first,_ unlike former military police who enforced their rule first. Anne took incredible pride in that reputation, and people who besmirched it were dealt with harshly. It meant that in Brussels, the uniform commanded respect, and many civilians had learned to recognize the signs distinguished service. Duo was… decorated, to say the least, and despite his age, the decorations on his jacket afforded him more respect than normal.

She knew Duo had been out of the city for too long by how surprised he was. It seemed like Duo was always surprised to be treated with more than a bare modicum of courtesy.

As they were leaving the market, the news on a random screen caught her attention, and she stopped. Duo took a step, then noticed she wasn’t at his side and backtracked. “What’s up?” he asked.

Mei nodded at the monitor, which had a picture of Tony Stark on it. The sound was muted, but the ticker across the bottom said “Who is Tony Stark’s uncovered love child?” Judging from the scrolling questions and the fact that it was Mr. Stark’s face and not Duo’s on the screen, she didn’t think they knew who it was, but still…

Duo tensed at her side and said a heartfelt, “Fuck.”

Mei figured it was an appropriate response.

* * *

Duo’s relative good mood had been spoiled when they got back to the car, and Mei sighed. Anne had told her about Tony Stark being Duo’s biological father after she overheard her arguing with him on the phone one night, but Duo hadn’t said a word about him to her.

Since the mood was already ruined, she figured it probably wouldn’t get much worse if she finally asked questions. “What’s he like?” she asked. Duo glanced over at her but said nothing. “You’ve met him, right?” she said, getting angry. Duo had never been this silent before. She didn’t like it. “Tony Stark, your father?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I’ve met him.”

“Well, what’s he like?” she demanded. “Is he like all of the articles say? Arrogant and smug and—”

“He’s lonely,” Duo interrupted. “Arrogant too. Used to walking over people because I think it’s the only way he knows.” He paused, but Mei could tell he wasn’t done. “At some point, I think someone convinced him his only value was in his intelligence. Since he’s so rich, people have probably always had ulterior motives for getting close to him. I don’t think he ever learned how to read people or their intentions, so he generally just assumes the worst, which probably makes him even more obnoxious and abrasive.”

Mei thought about what Duo was and wasn’t saying and asked, “But he’s not a bad person?” The side-eye look he gave her made her roll her eyes. “I know— _few people are all one thing_ ,” she quoted his own words back at him. “But he doesn’t seem like a bad person.”

“He means well,” Duo conceded, speaking slowly as if it pained him to admit it. “He’s used to being the smartest one in the room by a large margin, and he’s mistaken his intelligence for judgement.”

“Do you think he leaked information about you to the press?”

“He’s been looking for me for over a year. He could have used the press at any time to find me if he’d wanted to, and he knows where I am now. I doubt he would have leaked it. Hopefully the press won’t have any more luck finding information about me than Stark did.”

“Well, he already knows you’re a Gundam pilot…” she began, then saw Duo’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Wait, he doesn’t? You haven’t told him?”

“Why would I tell him? How would I tell him? ‘Oh, hi, I’m your long-lost biological son, but I’m also a mass murdering ex-terrorist. Hope that doesn’t bother you’?” he snapped mockingly. “If that made him toss me on my ass, fine, but it isn’t a secret I’d want someone who _would_ to have, thank you very much.” Mei had to hold on to the oh-shit bar as he took a turn particularly fast. He made a visible effort to calm himself.

“But he’s your father!”

“Mei—”

“No, listen to me!” she demanded. “You have this incredible chance to get to know your biological father. Why wouldn’t you take that?”

“First: I don’t believe that blood inherently means anything. I’ve seen plenty of blood relatives do terrible things to one another—things I wouldn’t do to enemies. I’ve also known more than a few people whose families were _actively damaging_ —your piece-of-shit grandfather included. But you know how much I’ve seen people try to defend them? Try to justify their behavior? Try over and over again to fix something that they can’t fix because some people don’t want to be fixed? Then they finally just cut ties, because they have to for some reason, and all they wish is that they had done it sooner, but the whole world treats it like it’s a failing on their part.” He glared out the windshield. “I don’t buy into it. Blood does not give you some automatic right over someone—especially a child. As far as I’m concerned, all parents should be evaluated as they raise their kids, not just the ones who adopt.”

“And second?” Mei asked, forcing herself to keep her voice even and judgement free.

“Second?”

“You said first, so I assume there’s a second.”

A little of the tension went out of him, and he just looked weary. “Second: I believe chosen families are more meaningful than blood. They’re the ones we decide to love, not the ones we’re conditioned to believe we should.” He reached over and tugged gently on a lock. “And no one gets to demand love. No one.”

Mei sighed. She could understand Duo’s position—having never known biological family at all before Mr. Stark, but she didn’t share his detachment. She longed to know her father as the man he actually was, rather than the man his subordinates, even Anne and Zechs, thought him to be. She wished there was someone who could tell her more about her mother—Dekim had never spoken of her. The idea that he had the chance to get to know his father and wouldn’t take it, though—it made her heart _ache_ with longing.

“Who says he can’t be both?” she asked as they pulled into the driveway.

Duo put the car into park and turned to look at her, confusion plain on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Why can’t he be someone you choose _and_ blood?”

That weariness again. “Mei—”

“You have a chance that most orphans would give a _limb_ to have,” she told him, not willing to be nice about this, because even though she loved Duo, even though he was her brother in all but blood, she couldn’t just let him throw this chance away. “You said it yourself— _he looked for you for over a year_. He has no idea who or what you are, he just knows you’re his son, and he wants to know you. Do you—” She had to cut herself off because the tears were going to start falling and her throat was getting tight, and this was too important not to say. “Do you have any idea what I would do to be able to spend a _day_ with my father? With my mother?” She sniffed and wiped angrily at her eyes, ignoring the fact she was probably ruining her makeup before meeting Duo’s eyes. “You’re convicting him before he’s been charged. Would it really hurt just to give him a chance?”

Duo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, somehow looking old beyond his years. “This isn’t some sappy love story, Mei.”

Mei shrugged, even though Duo couldn’t see it through his closed eyes. “You were the one to tell me we can’t hold people accountable for things they might have done. From what you’ve told me, Tony Stark is a lonely man who wants desperately to get to know his son. I think you don’t want to give him a chance because you’re afraid of being hurt, not because you think blood doesn’t mean anything.”

She jumped when Duo slammed his fist against the steering wheel and snarled, “ _Dammit_ , Mei.” He finally looked at her again, and the man that stared out at her wasn’t her normal Duo- _nii_. This was the Gundam pilot, the man who had been willing to slaughter tens of thousands, had been willing to die for his cause, fueled by rage and loss and stubbornness. “I lost Heero and I just buried my husband. I don’t have room for anyone else.”

“You’re also the one who taught me that love isn’t finite. There isn’t some arbitrary number of people we can love and then we run out,” she countered, fear beginning to override her anger and sadness. She had never seen Duo like this. Heero, Wufei, even Trowa, yes, she’d seen the pilot in all of them. Never in Duo, though. She knew it was there, of course, knew who and what he was, but she’d never ever been afraid of him.

As suddenly as that terrifying soldier had come, it vanished like fog in sunlight, and Duo just looked old and tired and— _sad_ seemed like such an inadequate word for the grief she saw.

“Let’s go make dinner,” he suggested, changing the subject and getting out of the car. Mei scrambled after him, grabbing her bag and violin out of the backseat as Duo grabbed the grocery bags.

 _His husband_. When Anne had told her Duo had been involved with someone other than Heero, Mei’s world had shifted. It seemed fundamentally _wrong_ for Duo to love anyone other than Heero. Duo was Heero’s and Heero was Duo’s, and that had quickly become one of the foundations of her world when Anne had first taken custody of her. Duo loved this man, mourned him, but not like he mourned Heero. Time, she thought, would heal this wound, and whoever Jesus Reyes had been, he seemed to have healed some of the wounds Heero had left. Even so, it seemed _wrong_.

It might be wrong, but the loss pained Duo. The wounds were real.

As Duo set the bags inside and began to unload them, she said, “Tell me about him?”

Duo looked at her sharply, as if surprised to hear her speak. “About Stark?”

She shook her head. “About your husband,” she clarified. “You must have loved him very much.”

One of Duo’s hands rose to the side of his neck, and he slipped a couple of fingers under the collar of his shirt, as if tracing something there. He stood still and silent for long moments, before relaxing, as if being tense took more energy than he had. He pulled out the rest of his ingredients, said, “Okay,” and began to tell her about Jesus Reyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at work, so if my general output has slowed--that's why. Kudos and reviews are appreciated (but only if you feel they're earned).


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barton didn’t respond for so long that Tony thought he was going to have to say “please” again, and really? Wasn’t once enough? But it was about Duo, his son and for Duo, he’d beg if necessary.

Tony understood the continued tension in the Tower, but he was doing his best to make the Accords palatable to everyone. It’d be nice if anyone else noticed.

Lately the Accords had been a distraction from worrying about Duo. Knowing he was in Brussels wasn’t much of a consolation when Duo wouldn’t talk to him. Pestering Une was fun in its own way, but he would rather hear from Duo himself.

Barton knocked on the glass and stuck his head in. “You summoned?” he asked, annoyed.

“Got a couple new arrowheads for you,” Tony said, tossing him one.

“Not that I’m going to be able to use them any time soon, but thanks.” He tossed the arrow back to Tony, and Tony sighed.

“Wait,” he said before Barton could leave.

“I knew you had an ulterior motive to summoning me,” Barton grumbled. “What is it?”

It was so painful to admit this, but it was going to eat Tony alive if he didn’t talk about it soon. “If I had literally anyone else I could possibly talk to about this, I would, okay? You’re literally the only person I know somewhat well who has kids, and you already know about Duo, so… please.”

Barton didn’t respond for so long that Tony thought he was going to have to say “please” again, and really? Wasn’t once enough? But it was about Duo, his _son_ and for Duo, he’d beg if necessary.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Barton sitting down across the table from him. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Is it always like this?” Tony asked, which was the biggest question in his head but hardly the only one.

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that, Stark. Like what?”

Tony got up from the bench to pace. “Since the moment I found out I had a kid, all I’ve done is wonder and worry about him. What’s he going to be like? Is he smart? Is he stubborn like me? Is he safe?” _Will he love me?_ He couldn’t quite utter the words, so instead he said, “He was a total stranger, and an adult, and I just… I’ve never worried about another person like this.”

He must have looked pathetic because Barton didn’t mock him. “I think those feelings are pretty universal for new parents—at least ones worth a damn. He might be an adult, but you still got those new-parent jitters. I hate to tell you, but those are totally normal.”

“The more I learn about him, the more terrified I am. His past is a big fucking blank, except for L2, which, let me tell you, is pretty terror-inducing all on its own.”

“Are you worried he’s an imposter?”

Tony laughed but there was no humor in it. “I wish. This would all be a lot less stressful if I thought he weren’t actually mine. But it’s really normal to be this invested in a stranger?” He leaned against another worktable and crossed his arms, feeling vulnerable and hating it.

Barton thought about it for a minute before answering. “In my experience, you fall in love with your kids twice. The first time when they’re born, or shortly after—that’s where you’re at right now. It’s the ‘Oh fuck, I’m responsible for this other human being,’ and ‘Please don’t let me fuck this up.’ It’s the most amazing and terrifying thing in the world.” He took a deep breath. “That first love? It’s unconditional. I literally can think of nothing my kids could do that could make me stop loving them. I can think of plenty of things that would break my heart and would disappoint me, but nothing that could make me not love them. Because it’s new to you, you’re still in the ‘please don’t let me fuck this up’ phase. Since your kid’s already an adult and that’s pretty much out of your hands, I think it’s more complicated for you.”

“And the second time?” Tony asked, sucking in Barton’s words because they fit how he was feeling.

“Watching them grow up and become their own people. Hopefully, if you did your job right and they aren’t just innately wrong, they become good people who make you proud. That’s where I am—watching my kids become people who are more than just helpless extensions of me and Laura.” He smiled, unaware of it. “They’re cooler than ever, scarier than ever, and more aggravating than ever, but mostly, it’s pretty amazing.”

“The more I learn about Duo, the more scared I am for him, the more out of my depth I feel. Reading about his dead husband doesn’t help.”

“Reyes?”

Tony wandered back over to flop onto a stool. “Yeah. He was… honestly, I don’t know why SHIELD didn’t try to take care of him. _Three_ undercover operatives were killed trying to infiltrate his cartel. One of them was found in _pieces_. Reyes had a reputation for dismembering people. My son _married_ him. Rationally, I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, right?” He knew he was in trouble when Barton looked pitying. “Except all I can think about is ‘how did he get there?’ Right? What happened in his life that at twenty he was willing to go undercover with that kind of organization at all? He said Reyes was obsessed with him. I’d like to believe he just married him to save himself, but I know that’s a lie.”

“Are you sure?”

“You didn’t see him with Reyes’s body,” Tony told him, remembering the near reverence Duo had bathed Reyes with. “I feel like there are a hundred reasons to just let him go, forget about him, and I can’t. It makes no _sense_ —”

“He’s your son,” Barton interrupted with a shrug. “It makes perfect sense.” He sighed. “Our kids are ours in a way that nothing else in the world is. It’s hard to let go of that, even if it makes logical sense. In the ‘for what it’s worth’ column, I think he’s a lot more dangerous than you give him credit for, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”

“You don’t think he’s bad?” Tony asked, a little bemused in spite of himself.

“He’s your kid, so hoping he might just be normal was probably asking for too much,” Barton quipped, tone bordering on offensive but eyes laughing enough to take the sting out. “But no, I don’t think he’s bad. Hurt, definitely. A little broken, also.”

Tony scoffed. “Aren’t we all?”

Barton stared at him as if looking for something. Tony wasn’t sure if he found it, but he said, “Yeah. I guess we are.” He stood. “That answer your questions?”

“I think so. At least for now.” Barton nodded and turned to leave, but Tony couldn’t let it end there. “Thanks,” he said. “Clint. I mean it. Thank you. I know I’m probably one of your least favorite people right now, so I appreciate it. And I know your family’s on the farm and all to keep them safe, but if you ever needed to move them, or even wanted to… I hope you know they’d be welcome here. No strings.”

Barton met Tony’s eyes, nodded, and left.

* * *

Une’s deskphone beeped before Isolde’s voice said, “Agent Hill to see you.”

“Send her in,” Une said, grabbing the folder she had set aside earlier. There was only a handful of seconds before a crisp knock sounded on the door and Hill let herself in.

When Maria Hill first applied to the Preventers, Une was suspicious. Hill was known broadly in spook circles for being Nick Fury’s right-hand-lady, and Une had heard more than one former SHIELD agent make comparisons between herself and Hill. Since most of the comments were edged with fear and respect, Une looked forward to meeting the woman herself.

Hill did not disappoint. That didn’t mean that Une ever forgot that Hill was first and foremost Nick Fury’s, but that didn’t mean Une couldn’t make use of her.

“Director,” Hill greeted at perfect military attention.

“Agent Hill,” Une replied, keeping her face calm. Hill choosing her own last name for her call sign bemused Une when she did it, and it continued to amuse her, though she did her best to keep it from showing. “Have a seat,” she directed.

Hill did, and she sat with the same precise posture Mei did. Une sighed internally and pushed the folder across the desk to Hill. Hill took the implied invitation and opened it.

“I need your help next week,” Une said.

“You want me to run training courses?” Hill asked, looking up from the pages.

“Not just you,” Une corrected. “I need you to work in concert with another agent, but he’ll be more effective if he appears to be taking the course than he would be if he were running it,” she explained.

Hill flipped to the next page, and Une let her get the gist before interrupting again. “Let me know if you find any issues with the training course.”

“Who will I be working with?” Hill asked, no curiosity in her voice, pure mission mode. She needed the information, so she was asking for it.

Une hid a smile before saying, “Agent Darkside.”

Hill looked up at her at that. Une knew damn well that Hill knew that Darkside was Tony Stark’s biological son. She didn’t think it was an accident that Hill applied for Preventers only a few weeks after Tony Stark had come to demand Une’s help to locate his son in person. But Hill was Fury’s, and if she had ever looked into Duo among Preventers, she had been very careful about it. Une knew she would be very interested to interact with him individually.

Closing the file deliberately, Hill said, “I heard Darkside was in town, but I haven’t had a chance to meet him.”

“He’s been locked in the server rooms upgrading our security,” Une explained, since there was no reason not to. “Do you have any concerns with coordinating with him?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Good.” She nodded toward the file again. “As I said, if you find any issues with the training courses, please have notes prepared for Monday morning at 0700 to discuss here in my office.”

“Will Darkside have any notes?” Hill asked.

“Darkside wrote the course,” Une said, and enjoyed the flash of surprise that response garnered. “But he’s flexible. If you have any issues or suggestions, he’ll be open to them. He hasn’t run them in nearly three years, so they may need some updating.”

Hill looked at her with a poker face that was on par with Barton’s, but Une could see the wheels turning. When Une simply met her gaze and waited, she said, “This course isn’t about training, is it?”

Une rewarded both the insight and the bravery with a rare smile. “That will be all, Agent Hill,” was all she said though.

Irritation flickered across Hill’s face, but she was used to being given direction without explanation. She stood without pushing further. “May I?” she asked, lifting the file.

“Of course. I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news--I'm back at work. Bad news, it has been eating my writing mojo, so if updates are a little more delayed, please bear with me. I still have a ton of Stand prepped, but the lovely beta triggered a complete overhaul of the next scene, so it might be a little delayed. Thanks for bearing with me.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury would _hate_ him, but Hill thought she rather liked Maxwell.

Curiosity had never been a defining feature of Maria Hill, but she had to admit—she was very curious to work with Duo Maxwell. The mere existence of Tony Stark’s illegitimate spawn had sent Fury into crisis-management overdrive. He couldn’t imagine that any child of Stark’s could possibly be any less of a wild card than his father.

Given what they’d learned, Hill wasn’t sure he wasn’t right to be concerned. Hill and Fury had sources closer to Preventers than Stark did, which allowed them to gather more generalized information about Maxwell than Stark could. The information painted two pictures: a fact that Hill was sure drove Fury’s blood pressure up. By some accounts, Maxwell was a laidback, easy-going, personable young man. By others, he was a bloodthirsty killer who was only a hair’s breadth from turning on other agents. Almost all accounts agreed that he was competent, one of the best—if not _the best_ —ground operatives that Preventers had. The dividing line between accounts was the Jackson-Stryker Building. Hill herself saw the genuine, soul-deep terror creep into agents’ eyes as they talked about Maxwell post-JS. It was just as real as the honest affection in agents’ eyes when they spoke of earlier days.

That Maxwell vanished after quitting Preventers definitely kept Fury up a few nights. Hill let Fury worry about him. Her job was to deal with known threats, not wild cards.

Hill wasn’t curious by nature, but now that she had a chance to judge Duo Maxwell personally, she found herself looking forward to it. She rarely had an opportunity to take someone’s measure before Fury did, and a tiny bubble of anticipation floated in her chest.

Hill knocked on Une’s closed door at 0700 on the dot. Even Une’s administrative assistant wasn’t in yet.

“Enter” was the simple response.

Une sat at her desk, looking as though she’d been working for hours, no sign of the early time to be seen. Maxwell sat in one of the chairs facing her, posture lazy and relaxed, a large, bright purple reusable coffee cup in his hand. He glanced over and up at her, and while his posture was at ease, she could see wheels spinning behind his eyes. She wondered if the intelligence there reminded her of Stark because she knew Maxwell was his son, or if it was just plain family resemblance.

“Perfect timing, Agent Hill,” Une said, motioning for her to sit. Hill did, though she’d have rather remained standing. “Darkside, Agent Hill will be your partner for the training courses. Agent Hill, this is Agent Darkside.”

He shifted to face her when she’d come in, and his eyes hadn’t left her, but he raised his cup in a faux salute. She couldn’t help but notice that the purple on the cup was an exact match for his eyes.

“Duo Reyes-Maxwell,” he said. Fury told her about the name change and the potential tie to Jesus Reyes and the Kings Cartel, but it was still surprising to hear Maxwell claim it so openly. The accounts on exactly what Maxwell’s role in the cartel had been conflicted. Seeing his comfort in Une’s office and the fact that Une didn’t remark on the change made Hill put stock into the undercover theory, even though the name change itself suggested something more complicated than a mere undercover op.

“Maria Hill,” she replied.

Maxwell blinked at her before a grin that was pure Stark mischief spread across his face. He turned to face Une. “Look at you, growing a sense of humor while I was busy,” he said to her.

Hill would usually classify Une’s poker face as at least as good as her own, so she didn’t expect to see the spark of amusement and a bare quirk of a grin pass over Une’s features before they resettled into her usually severe expression. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Darkside,” she responded, deadpan.

Maxwell laughed in delight at the response. Only Hill’s considerable training kept her from either staring or gaping like an idiot.

Une and Maxwell weren’t just coworkers, they were _friends_. How had this never come up? Une had a reputation for being ruthlessly antipartisan with her agents. She did not play favorites. The only people Hill heard of her being even _friendly_ with were Sally Po and her admin, Isolde Gunnerson. Sitting there, watching them, Hill realized they were at ease with one another in that way that only long familiarity bred. Agents from the newest rookies to the seasoned veterans spoke of Une as barely human. They respected her and her leadership, but the idea of Une as a person was as good as a foreign concept to most Preventers.

He turned his attention back to Hill, propping an elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his chin on the heel of his hand. “Hill, huh? Couldn’t think of anything better?” It could have been biting, but the undercurrent of delighted amusement was too strong to take offense at.

Hill gave him a small shrug. “I’ve been Agent Hill for a long time,” she admitted.

Smile settling into something more gentle and pleased, Maxwell sat back up. “So, _Hill_ , did you have any notes on my training course you wanted to cover?” he asked.

She did, in fact.

* * *

Gillian Peschka hadn’t expected a week-long “final training” course to be tacked onto the end of her Preventers Basic Training courses when she was supposed to be _done_ already. It was interesting working with more recent agents, though she hadn’t met anyone yet who had been with the Preventers for more than two years. The war-type games varied from dull to fascinating, but she didn’t really understand how they applied to an organization that was closer to a spherewide police force than a military one.

She did think ending day five on a brutal obstacle course was just mean. Gillian would love to get her hands on the schmuck who designed the thing that was part Spartan course, part ninja course, and all fucking sadistic.

“There is no fucking way they used to run this regularly,” she insisted from where they were trying to heft Gibson over a twelve-foot wall. There were only five of them, and Gibson was a bear of a man who was apparently some sort of demolitions prodigy. He was a nice enough guy, but he had _no_ upper body strength to speak of, and Gillian, Jake—a two-year Preventer vet who definitely weightlifted in his spare time, and Carmen—a 5’5” redhead from Spain, are all were trying to heave Gibson up over the wall. Meanwhile, pretty boy _Duo Reyes-Maxwell_ watched them from the side like he thought they were all crazy while they tried to heave Gibson up. Every other team running this course has left them in the dust.

" _Maxwell!_ " Gillian snapped. No one would accuse her of being shy and retiring, quite the opposite. She’d often been called a hothead, and Maxwell was on her last fucking nerve. He might be pretty, but he was fucking _useless_. "We need your help to lift!"

He raised an eyebrow and gave them an incredulous look. "Have you looked at me? Do _I_ look like I can lift that guy? No offense, Gibs."

"None taken," Gibson said, out of breath.

“We can get you up, big guy!” Jake insisted.

“Put him down before you hurt yourself,” Maxwell told Jake, sounding tired. Getting Gibson down was a challenge all its own.

“Maybe, if we get the girls up there, Maxwell, you and I can boost him and they can pull him over?” Jake offered.

Maxwell didn’t look convinced. Gillian wasn’t convinced either, but at least she was willing to _try_.

“Carmen, if I give you a boost, can you get up?” she asked. Carmen nodded.

Jake opened his mouth to protest. “I can—”

“You’re going to need all the strength you can get to boost Gibson. Catch your breath,” Gillian told him, squatting and locking her fingers to provide a step for Carmen.

Carmen backed up and nodded at her, then took a bit of a running start. Between her momentum and Gillian tossing her, she was soon sitting on top of the wall.

“Okay, now Maxwell, give me a boost,” Gillian demanded. She’d noticed him the first day—hard not to notice hair and eyes like that when you were a hair and eyes girl. He floated around between groups, talking a lot, being the center of attention a lot—again, not surprisingly—but he was just so… _shallow_. Pretty face and empty head, and by day three, Gillian was glad she hadn’t been on a team with him. Seriously, who joined law enforcement just because their boyfriend wanted to? It was small and petty, but Gillian didn’t blame Maxwell’s ex for leaving him. Some people should just have “PLACE MATTRESS HERE” tattooed on their back, because that’s all they were good for. If there was any justice in the world, whoever was observing these tests would fail him and kick him out.

“You’re taller than me, shouldn’t you be giving _me_ a boost?” he asked, looking offended.

“I’m pretty sure I’m also _stronger_ than you,” she snarled through clenched teeth. “So unless _you_ want to be hauling Gibson up, shut up and give me a boost.”

She must have looked suitably furious because Maxwell caved, muttering, “Okay, okay.”

“Guys, really—” Gibson began.

“You shut up.” She cut herself off and forced herself to tone it down. It wasn’t—well, it kind of _was_ Gibson’s fault he was this terribly out of shape, but being a bitch to him wasn’t going to help things. He already felt bad enough. “Conserve your energy. We need you to make it this time, okay, big guy?” she asked.

“I’m really sorry, Gillian,” he said, looking down at the floor.

She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all right,” she said, then turned her attention back to Maxwell, who had moved into place and didn’t look happy about it at all. Gillian backed up and got ready to run at him. “You saw me do this, right, Maxwell.”

“Yeah…” he said, but he didn’t sound sure about it.

“C’mon, kid, you can do this.” She took a deep breath, then took a running start. She’d been a pole vaulter in secondary, so she had good ups, and she really shouldn’t need much help— _what the fuck_? One moment she was pushing off something, the next, she was falling on Maxwell. It took her a moment to understand what had happened. She had been running, put her foot in Maxwell’s hands, and… _his hands fell out from under her._ She stared down at the flustered Maxwell beneath her, and seriously contemplated strangling him with his own braid. “You fucking useless—”

Jake hauled her off of Maxwell before she could punch him. “Cool down, Gillian,” he said. “You’re not helping if you beat him to death.” He turned to Maxwell, who was getting to his feet slowly, dusting off the seat of his pants. “Maxwell, Gillian shouldn’t need a lot of help. If you just get on your hands and knees, she can use your back as a step,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, but Gillian could hear the undercurrent of irritation in his voice.

He scoffed— _the little prick_ scoffed!—and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, and there was something different about his voice, but she was too angry to pay it much attention. “Given the chance, she’ll break my back. I think it’s best just to call it on this one.”

Gillian saw red. “You just want to _give up_? You’ve barely done any fucking work! You conceited little tramp! You’ve let us drag you along, every step of the fucking way, and you are _not_ going to make me fail if I have to drag your fucking corpse over that wall, am I clear?” she yelled. She wasn’t sure when she had gotten right up in his face, but she was looming over him by the time she ran out of words.

Later, she’d realize that she was screaming herself hoarse in his face, and Maxwell looked bored with it. He wasn’t the least bit afraid of or intimidated by her.

“Creative,” was all he said in response, dry as dust. He reached up to his ear and pressed on something. “Hill, I’m calling this one. We need to do a different evaluation for Gibson. I honestly don’t think we can get him over the wall safely.” He tilted his head as if listening. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll help the rest of them finish it,” he said with a sigh. Maxwell took his hand away from his ear and looked at Gibson. “Go ahead and go see Agent Hill at the start of the course. We’ll figure out something else for you. Thanks for your hard work,” he said. When Gibson looked unsure and didn’t move, Maxwell added, “Really, Gibs. It’s fine. Not everyone can get through these courses. You are going to need to get in better shape than this, but you don’t need to be a gym rat to be a Preventer. I read your thesis on the Jackson-Stryker Building’s bombs and how they could have been disarmed. I think the damn thing still comes down, but I would have loved to have your voice in my ear to give me options.” Gibson looked up from under his lashes, and Maxwell waited until he caught Gibson’s eyes to say, “There’s a place for you here, but it’s not likely to be running around in the field yourself. Okay?”

“Okay,” Gibson agreed, turning his attention to his other teammates. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do this together.”

Jake gave him a hearty backpound. “It’s all right, bud. Go see Agent Hill. We’ll catch up with you later.”

He nodded, wiped the sweat from his brow with relief, then turned to go.

Gillian just stared at Maxwell. Gone was the brainless, frail-seeming boy, and in his place stood a young man who was comfortable both in his own skin and with command. He watched Gibson go until he turned a corner then turned his attention back to Gillian.

“Failing to complete the course doesn’t mean you fail out of basic,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Lucky for you, Hill is insisting I finish it to allow you three to finish it, since most teams of three can’t pass it alone. That said—Peschka, I am going to recommend that you see someone about anger management.”

“But—”

“You were being a dick just to make her angry,” Jake defended. “You’re a plant.”

“I was,” Maxwell conceded, “but that’s not the point. Thing is, I don’t really care how you do on this course. If you’re going to be doing the big ground missions, you’re going to get courses way worse than this one and plenty more training. If you’re going to be on the more intelligence and coordination side of the business, it doesn’t matter if you pass it or not. _Either way_ , you’re going to be working with a lot of people and representing the Preventers. And you’re going to work with assholes who think they know better than you do. You’re going to be working with idiots who should never have been given the job. You need to be able to work with or around these people, often under stress, without alienating them. I _was_ being deliberately unhelpful, but I wasn’t being particularly nasty or insulting. You can’t go off on people for being stupid or petty. It’s not just unprofessional, it’s almost always actively damaging to a situation.”

He laid it all out in such cool, logical fashion that Gillian felt about three feet tall and maybe three years old. Feeling so small made her angry again, and she snapped. “What do you know anyway?”

His eyes went flat and cold. “You should really hope you don’t ever find out,” he said, and something in his voice made her heart race and a chill shudder down her back. It wasn’t a good racing; it was a panicked racing, some instinct screaming _Danger! Danger! Run!_ He turned his attention to Jake. “Do you need help up?” he asked.

Jake winced. “Probably. My ups aren’t that great.”

“Help Peschka up first. I’ll help you up.”

“I—” Gillian started, not really sure what she was going to say, but a sharp glance from Maxwell shut her up.

“C’mon, Gill,” Jake encouraged, shooting a side-eyed glance at Maxwell as he squatted and laced his fingers. She didn’t run at Jake, just held his shoulders, then bounced. He easily lifted her up high enough to get up on top of the wall.

“Your turn,” Maxwell said.

“But what about—”

Maxwell was already crouching, fingers laced. “You won’t fall this time,” he said.

Jake frowned, but got a bit of a running start. Maxwell lifted him high enough that he was able to get a grip and pull himself up. When Gillian looked down again, Maxwell had backed up. Surely he wasn’t going to try to jump? The wall was entirely vertical—it wasn’t some stunt wall he could push off of to get up. Maxwell took three quick, big strides, then jumped. A foot hit the wall and Maxwell seemed to use that to push himself upward somehow. He jumped so high, he was able to land crouching on top of the wall, not having to pull himself up at all.

He turned to look at them, balanced easily on the balls of his feet in a position that Gillian thought she might fall out of on flat ground, never mind the top of a twelve-foot wall. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he asked, as if they had somehow been the lazy ones.

“Who _are_ you, dude?” Jake asked, sounding incredulous. Gillian was having a hard time believing it herself.

Maxwell grinned, a grin that seemed made to taunt. “Duo Reyes-Maxwell,” he said, cheekily, then added, “Call sign: Darkside.”

It didn’t mean anything to Gillian, but given the gaping fish impression Jake was doing, it meant something to him. Maxwell stood up, then began to _walk_ down the steep, widely spaced logs that made up the other side of the wall as though it were normal stairs.

They all scrambled to follow him. As they got to the next obstacle, there was a leaderboard with the best course records posted. The top spot was held by Darkside.

* * *

Maxwell flopped down in the seat across the aisle, dropping a laptop bag in the empty seat to his left, and sighed. He was the last person to arrive on the plane, and he looked like he’d been running to catch it. Hill had seen him run an obstacle course that would make some marines complain without breaking a sweat, so he must have been running full-tilt to catch the flight. A flight attendant quickly closed the door, and the plane settled into takeoff procedures. Once the safety discourse was done, Hill glanced over at Maxwell.

“Did you get all of the recommendations submitted?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, voice thick with relief as he closed his eyes. “I deserve to sleep for a week after that bullshit.”

A grin twitched at Hill’s lips, but she suppressed it. She respected him as an agent: he was smart, he worked hard, but he was also professional, if unconventional. He wasn’t Stark, but he definitely had some of that Stark charisma. Even playing an embarrassingly convincing idiot for most of the training course, most agents found it hard to dislike him. He was more… grounded than Stark though. She had seen enough of his work to suspect that Maxwell was far smarter than the average agent, but he didn’t lord it over anyone.

He did have enough of a mischievous streak that made Hill sure Fury would hate him on principle.

“I keep meaning to ask,” she said as the plane rose into the air. 

Maxwell opened an eye to glance over at her and made an inquiring sound.

“Gibson—you let him off the hook in the course, but if you were in a situation where you had to get someone like Gibson over a wall like that, what would you have done?” she asked.

The question apparently warranted opening both eyes and Maxwell turning in his seat to look at her. He propped an elbow on the armrest, then propped his chin on his fist and asked, “What would you have done?”

“I asked first,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but I’m curious too. I know how _I_ would get Gibson over that wall. I’m not sure how _you_ would.”

She’d thought about it, so she had a ready answer. “If I was working with agents like Peschka and Lopez, I’d have them make a human staircase. They’re small, but they should have been able to take his weight for long enough to get him up. I think that the three of us might have been able to make enough of a trampoline with our hands to get him up too.”

Maxwell gave an exaggerated frown. “I suppose one or either of those could work. It’d be tough though—Gibson’s a big guy.”

“How would you do it then?” she asked.

Turning away from her, he settled into the seat and closed his eyes before he said, “Depends on the situation. If I could, I’d blow the wall. If we were actively pursued … I’d just throw him over it.”

“But as you just said—Gibson’s a big guy,” she pointed out logically.

Maxwell hummed in agreement, then cracked an eye open to look at her. “And though he be but little, he is fierce,” he said, a lazy grin curling his lips.

The misquote caught her so off-guard, a chuff of laughter escaped before she could control it. She shook her head and settled into her own seat as Maxwell closed his eyes again. The plane took off, heading back to New York City.

Fury would _hate_ him, but Hill thought she rather liked Maxwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duo is, of course, misquoting _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ Act 3 Scene 2: “And though she be but little, she is fierce.” 
> 
> Sorry this took so long. Blame the beta who is the reason this chapter exists. Upon the first readthrough she said, "I look forward to the training scene."
> 
> Me: Training scene?  
> Beta: Yes, training scene. He obviously can't do this just from their files.  
> Me: *laughing nervously* Obviously...
> 
> This scene gave me fits, so it held up getting sent to her, then she was late on top of it, so again, sorry. I hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> I have also started a Tumblr (yes, woefully behind the times, who even uses that thing anymore?), if you're interested in little random snippets of writing. Depending if anyone's interested, I may put some deleted scenes from this series up there. 
> 
> [AngelSelene's Tumblr ](https://angelselene.tumblr.com/)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo's foot came down and pressed threateningly on his throat. "Stop begging. It's embarrassing."

Duo knew he should be sleeping. Any time after 2 a.m. officially qualified as “stupid o’clock,” and he passed that mark about two hours back. Instead he was curled up in a window seat, watching the storm pelt the window from one of WinStar’s New York penthouse suites. Duo was used to popping in and availing himself of open rooms at WinStar hotels and resorts—the pilots were on a very short list of people other than Winner direct family members who were to be granted a room upon request, but it wasn’t usually anything special. Frankly, any room in a WinStar hotel was nicer than any ship Duo had lived on as a kid, even the supposedly low-rent rooms.

Because Quatre was a worrywart and tended overgift when stressed, he had set aside this premier suite indefinitely while Duo was in New York. Refusing it would have made Quatre try to overcompensate even _more_ , so Duo sucked it up. The view from the 50th floor was pretty spectacular, he had to admit, even if the suite itself was over the top for Duo’s preference.

Which meant that Quatre was probably losing quite a bit of money by letting Duo have his suite, but then again, he was _Quatre Winner_. Duo had finally learned to just not argue when Quatre wanted to give people things. After effectively refusing to let Quat buy him anything for the better part of three years, Duo figured he was allowed to be a little over the top.

The suite had nothing to do with why he wasn’t sleeping anyway, just something to think about that wasn’t…

 _Cooling blood seeping into the knees of his pants. The dead weight of Jesus’s head on his lap. Dead eyes staring where once there had been so much_ life _._

Duo curled in tighter, trying to focus on the storm outside the window even as he spun Jesus’s wedding ring around his thumb. He told himself the tightness of the still-new scar across his abdomen was just in his mind.

Thunder crashed distantly, almost lost among the rain pounding on the window.

_I should have been there. I should have known. I should have been there._

Shini thrummed under his skin, echoing the thunder and rain but helpless. It did not mourn. It did not know sorrow. It could make Duo’s emotions go away if he let it rise up, but there was nothing to point it at, no targets to give it rein against. If he called upon Shini, it demanded a price. Duo had paid that price before—paid it over and over again in the months after losing Heero. Turning to Shinigami, letting it control him, letting it clear out everything but the _now_ for _months_ had led to Une taking him out of the field. He didn’t know how many he killed on missions during those months, he just knew it was a lot.

Part of him longed to go back to that time—when the only time between missions was time spent sleeping and Shini rode him for days without break.

_I couldn’t keep him. I couldn’t keep them. I can’t keep anyone._

He knew it wasn’t a solution. Using Shini like that was no better than using a drug and infinitely more destructive. A normal drug mostly harmed the one who used it, possibly spilling over to their loved ones. Duo’s form actually killed people.

He was so fucked up. Maybe if he told Stark he was a mass murderer who’d rather kill people than deal with his own emotions, he’d go away?

Knowing his luck, it would just make Stark want to fix him.

He folded his arms over his knees and laid his head on it, concentrating on the sound and sight of the rain to try and take him out of his own head. He’d been able to avoid all this nonsense in Brussels by either being busy as fuck with first the security systems upgrade, then the personnel files and the training course, or being distracted by Une or Mei. Back in New York, until he went back into the precinct, he had nothing left to distract him from his own thoughts, and they’d been spinning between memories of Jesus and Heero since he had set foot in the hotel room.

He took a deep breath and focused. He could do this. The trick wasn’t _not_ to think about whatever he was avoiding, it was to focus on what was immediately in front of him. The music of the rain on the window, watching the drops that held on the edges, watching them swell and leave tear tracks on the glass.

Thoughts _finally_ quiet, Duo began to nod off when Shini surged up through him. What little color there was in the night bled away. Someone was in his hotel room. He concentrated and sensed five souls, souls that knew Death, had dealt it.

Duo grinned, wide, and full of teeth and threat.

How kind of someone to give him an excuse to let Shinigami ride.

* * *

"Stark," Fury said, not letting Tony get anything snarky out, but honestly, there would never be a good reason for Fury to call at 4 a.m. "Do you know where your son is?"

“Should be back in New York as of yesterday, but I haven’t talked to him yet,” he said in reply, though he was more than a little suspicious about Fury calling him to ask about his son. He’d been on something of a media lockdown since news that he _had_ a son leaked. He supposed he should be grateful he managed to keep it under wraps as long as he had, but it still irked him that it leaked. The only thing on his side was the fact that if _he_ couldn’t find out much about Duo, neither could the news outlets.

"Hydra apparently found out about your son and sent agents to his location."

"Why are telling me this instead of intercepting?" he demanded, hitting reactor on his chest to activate his suit. "Where is he?"

"Apparently he's in a suite at WinStar in New York—50th floor.”

So, a two-minute flight for Tony. He didn't wait for Fury to say anything else, hanging up the phone, activating his suit, and flying up the stairwell so he could get to an exit.

Because FRIDAY was amazing, she got him Duo’s exact room—listed under Gemelo Reyes—and where it was in the building. As soon as he identified two figures in the room, he blasted into it, only to be brought up short when he found Duo crouched over a fallen man, pointing a gun in Tony’s direction automatically even though a simple gun couldn’t harm the armor.

As FRIDAY identified additional bodies—and they were definitely _bodies_ —he was brought up short.

"You here for me or the idiots who thought attacking me was a good idea?" Duo asked instead of greeting him.

While Tony searched for something to say—because a Hydra _team_ had attacked him and only one was even _alive_ , he knew Duo had to be good, but there’s good and then there’s _good_ —the Hydra goon at Duo's feet spoke up. "Stark. Iron Man—please save me." Blood spilled over his lips, but he wasn’t coughing or having difficulty breathing.

Tony blinked at him behind the faceplate. Hydra goons asking for help was new.

"Know each other?" Duo stood up, lowering the gun, sounding droll. Tony mentally course corrected, because, yes, Duo was _good_. 

“No. Random Hydra lackey," Tony said, though when he looked, the guy looked like more than a random lackey—and he looked genuinely frightened.

"Iron Man—"

Duo's foot came down and pressed threateningly on his throat. "Stop begging. It's embarrassing," he said, then focused on Tony. "If you wanna take him, you save me the headache of calling whoever I need to instead of SHIELD."

"There might be more on the way," Tony said, scanning the room.

"I doubt it," Duo said as Tony's sensors started searching. Duo looked down at the agent and asked, "Your people won't come after me again, will they?" The question was laced with a menacing purr and the Hydra agent began to _cry_.

Tony kind of wanted to learn that trick.

"No, no, no. I swear. I’ll tell them."

Duo snorted, unimpressed, and stepped back, putting the safety on the gun and slipping it into the back of his pants. He bent back down to yank the agent up, and shoved him at Tony, who caught him on reflex. "Get him out of here."

Tony wasn’t sure what Duo thought he was going to do with the mumbling and whimpering goon. "We need to talk," he started.

"Probably," Duo said, turning his back on him, stepping behind an island and pulling out his phone—not a StarkPhone, he noticed absently.

"I can call the local PD and coroner for the bodies unless there’s someone else you'd rather I call for clean up? They should be on their way anyway. I can’t imagine shots weren’t reported. Though since it’s Hydra, it technically falls under Preventers purview."

"FRI, call Fury. Ask him if he wants anyone to take charge of the Hydra agent," he said.

"Yes, Boss," she replied in his ear.

"I've got contacts at NYPD. They're not going to be happy about the bodies, but they're not going to arrest me for them either. It's a pretty cut and clear case of self-defense, especially if I have to tell them about you."

The goon’s simpering was getting on Tony's nerves. "What the hell is your problem?" he asked the goon.

Duo answered, "He's upset that I removed his suicide tooth. It seems being a living failure is much scarier than being dead.”. He reached over, grabbed a plastic bag, then pitched it at Tony, who caught the thing on reflex. Inside the bag was a large adult tooth. As Tony looked at it more closely, he realized that it wasn't that the tooth was particularly _large_ , it was surrounded by _bone_.

"Did you cut out part of his _jaw_?" Tony asked, wondering how the _hell_ he had managed it, and was rewarded with another bored look.

"It's a _suicide_ tooth. If I broke it while getting it out, it would have killed him and possibly me. And if I _didn't_ remove it, he'd have killed himself at the first chance. So yes, I removed part of the jaw to make sure I didn't compromise the tooth."

That logic was pretty rock solid, even if it wasn’t the way Tony would have done it.

There was a banging on the door. Duo made a motion to Tony to silence him and moved to it before Tony could respond.

"NYPD."

The tension that Tony hadn't even noticed eased from Duo's shoulders as he opened the door. "Long time no see," he said.

"Fucking hell—weren’t you in Europe?" the detective who came in grumbled. He paused in the doorway, a couple of uniforms behind him, and gave Duo a very thorough once-over. "How are you doing?" There was something oddly low and intimate about the question.

"I've had better days." Duo sighed. "Come on in. Stark has the leftover—the bodies are over there," he pointed vaguely in their general direction.

"Five weeks, Gemelo. You couldn't go five weeks without dropping bodies on my doorstep?"

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Duo said, but there was no heat behind it.

"Iron Man," the detective nodded at Tony. "Detective Reese Anderson. With all due respect, why are you even here?"

"These are Hydra goons—I mean agents," Tony said, figuring it was best to follow Duo's lead and not disclose their relationship unless it was necessary, even if Duo and the detective knew each other.

Anderson whistled in appreciation. "You just don't do shit by halves, do you? What the fuck have you done in the last couple months that put you in _Hydra's_ crosshairs?"

"I haven't done anything."

"Bull."

"Honestly, this one isn’t on me.”

The detective looked skeptical. "Fiftieth floor, huh?"

"I have connections, asshole. Don't worry about misbegotten money funding this."

"This isn't—?"

"No. Which reminds me—Stark, you owe WEI a new window."

He would have paid for it anyway but felt compelled to point out, "I thought I was saving your life."

"How did you get notification that Hydra was after Mr. Maxwell?" Anderson asked him.

"I got a tip," Tony said dryly, because that should be _obvious_.

"Hydra are over my paygrade," the detective said, sounding put out. "You got somewhere else to stay, Maxwell?"

It was a perfect chance to jump in. "You can stay at the Tower. We've got plenty of room."

"Hard pass," Duo said, not even pretending to be polite about it. "Gimme your phone," he said to the detective instead. The detective looked confused but unlocked it and did as asked. Duo navigated it with ease. "If you need me, use this number, at least for now." He handed the phone back to the detective.

Tony was about at his threshold for being ignored. "Hey, hold on here. One, _Hydra_ came looking for you. I don't care if you put the fear of God into this guy." Tony shook the still simpering goon pointedly. "But they're not just going to give up. Anywhere you go, you'll be at risk of bringing them with you. The safest place to be is at the Tower with the rest of the Avengers."

Duo folded his arms across his chest, clearly unimpressed. "Noted. And two?"

Tony blinked at him, though Duo couldn't see it through the faceplate. "Two?"

"You said 'one,' so I'm assuming you have another reason?"

Okay, fuck this circumspect shit. It was going to get out sooner than later anyway. "Two, you're my son, dammit! It's not unreasonable to want you safe!"

"You're Tony Stark's _son_?" the detective blurted, looking gobsmacked.

Duo winced. “Recent revelation.”

"I've had it run and verified," Tony snapped. "There's no mistake."

Duo rolled his eyes like the teenager he almost was, then slipped around everyone into a back room. He came out less than a minute later with a good-sized black duffel and a black leather jacket. He looked at the detective.

"Let me know if you need anything." He began to walk to the door, but Tony moved into his path.

"Wait,” Tony began, feeling silly holding the goon and the baggie with the goon’s tooth. "If Hydra was—"

Duo's spine visibly stiffened. "Get the hell out of my way."

"Hydra isn't—" Tony tried again.

"If they want to come at me, let them come."

Getting irritated, Tony blurted, "Just because you got the better of some flunkies—"

"Fuck this," Duo interrupted, spinning on his heel, a long braid whipping out behind him. He made a beeline to the window Tony had broken in through.

“Gemelo,” Anderson’s voice brought him up short. Duo turned and looked at him. “No one else got hurt this time, but you’re Tony Stark’s _son_. Hydra’s not likely to give up. I know how good you are,” he said, and something about the way he said it held weight. He’d seen Duo fight before, hadn’t been at all surprised that Duo had taken down a Hydra team single-handed. He knew what Duo was capable of. “But you’re in New York City. What are the chances that next time there won’t be collateral?”

Duo glared at him for a long moment, then threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Fuck you, _so much_.” But Tony could tell from the tone, he was giving in.

“Next time,” Anderson quipped back. “And I need your gun.” He pulled out an evidence bag.

“You really don’t love me anymore,” Duo complained, just shy of stomping over to him. He pulled his gun back out, ejected the cartridge and the round, and dropped them all in the bag. “I want that back.”

“And—”

“You can have my knives when you pry them from my cold, dead body and not one second before.”

Anderson sighed. “You know that’s not normally how this works, right?”

“It is unless you want to see if Hydra is willing to attack me while I’m in holding,” Duo replied sweetly.

“Putting you in holding is just going to end up with more bodies,” Anderson said with a sigh.

“Not my fault.”

“Totally would be.”

“I do not start fights.”

“You sure as hell finish them though,” Anderson said, looking pointedly at the Hydra goon.

Duo crossed his arms, then hissed. About half of the room moved toward him automatically, but Duo straightened and waved them off. “I’m fine. Bruised, probably.” He held his ribs in a way that Tony was painfully familiar with. One of the other cops came to Tony and held out an evidence bag, which Tony dutifully dropped the tooth baggie into.

“Suicide tooth,” he warned the cop, who nodded.

Tony moved toward Duo, but not before Anderson got there, looking stricken. “We can get an—”

“I’m not going to a damn hospital. The adrenaline’s just worn off so I’m feeling it,” Duo said. “I’ll live.”

Anderson put a gentle hand on Duo’s shoulder. “If you won’t go to the hospital, please, for my peace of mind, go with the Avengers. That’s where you’ll be safest.” Duo straightened, though he still held his side, looking defiant, when Anderson added, “Please, Gemelo.”

Tony wanted the story behind these two so badly, it was all he could do to keep silent. He just knew if he opened his mouth, Duo would be gone.

“ _Please_.” Then he added something soft in Spanish. Because FRIDAY was really a bright girl, she translated it and played it back for him. “ _Jesus would have wanted you to be safe, and he would have trusted your father to keep you safe_.”

Duo deflated, the fight going out of him. “Fuck you,” he said, but it was a concession.

Anderson took another liberty and pulled the bag off Duo’s shoulder, looking away only long enough to all but shove it at Tony, who had to rearrange the goon to catch it. “He shouldn’t be carrying this if his ribs are bruised,” he said, then turned his attention back to Duo. “You know, I was supposed to be on light duty and minor assignments. This isn’t that,” he said, but it wasn’t chiding or even really complaining, more teasing.

“What can I say?” Duo gave him a small smile in return. “You answered a shots fired call at a WEI penthouse suite. What did you expect?”

Walking over to take the goon from Tony, Anderson muttered, “Guess I should be glad you left a survivor.”

“Dead men don’t talk. This one will.” He turned back to focus on the Hydra goon, who had somewhat gathered himself as Tony held him. Duo walked over and stood just outside of the man’s personal space. He met the man’s eyes, not saying anything, just _grinned_ at him. The man started struggling, trying to get away, nearly _panicked_ , and Tony didn’t wholly blame him. That grin wasn’t directed at him, and even in the armor, some primal part of Tony wanted to _get away_.

“P—please. Please, please,” the goon begged, there was no other word for it. It reminded him of watching Natasha terrify goons who was easily twice her size. It was almost funny watching the goon all but falling over himself trying to get away from a visibly injured Duo.

“You’re going to answer all of these nice detectives’ questions to the best of your ability, fully, won’t you?” Duo asked in a would-be sweet voice if not for a chilling undercurrent of absolute threat. “And you’re not going to try to run, because if you run, I’m going to have to come looking for you, and you don’t want that, do you?”

“N-n-no! No, sir. Please, _please_ , I’ll do whatever you want.” The man began to bawl again.

“Just answer all the nice agents’ questions and be good, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Duo stepped back. “You should be good now,” he said to Anderson. “Neither you nor the Preventers will have any problems with him.”

Anderson, who had been wrangling the near-panicked goon, was looking nervous. “What the everloving fuck did you do? You can’t torture people—”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Duo said.

Tony hated to contradict him but pointed to the evidence bag with the tooth. “You did cut out part of his jaw,” he said.

Duo rolled his eyes. “While he was _unconscious_. He didn’t wake up till after I was done. Removing the suicide tooth was necessary to save his damn life. He freaked out the minute he saw me. I tried restraining the one in the bedroom, but he used his suicide tooth, which is why I knew this guy probably had one. I knocked him out while he was blubbering, before he could get his head back together enough to suicide, removed the tooth— _yes, with some of the surrounding bone_ —and tied him up. I didn’t _do_ anything to him.”

"But you know why he’s afraid of you,” Anderson said, and he sounded weary.

He started to shrug, then winced as he remembered his side. “Some people just _are_. I’d think you would remember why.”

Definitely history there; Tony could feel it, but Anderson just shook his head and sounded tired when he said, “Just… get out of here, Gemelo.”

“Gladly,” Duo said, echoing Anderson’s tone. He met Tony’s eyes and nodded for him to lead the way.

“Boss, I had Mr. Hogan come by. I didn’t think you’d want to fly back in this storm with Duo,” FRIDAY told him.

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony told her, leading the way.

Duo hesitated before leaving the suite.

“Hydra falls under Preventer jurisdiction, so at least it should be off your hands soon?” he offered.

“Just…” Anderson bit off something and ended with a simple, “go.” Just before they left, Anderson called, “Take care, okay? And stay in touch?”

Duo nodded, then followed Tony into the hall, where Tony retracted his suit in the hopes of not drawing additional attention.

“Happy’s waiting for us,” Tony told him. “Let’s head straight down to the garage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been so looking forward to getting to this chapter. I hope you enjoyed too.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tried to warn me?” Tony asked, feeling a little lightheaded.
> 
> Duo had the gall to look amused. “The body isn’t as pretty as the face,” he said with a tone that suggested he’d used the line before.

Tony had FRIDAY jam the cameras on the way down, but Duo’s anonymity was on a definite countdown.

He waited until they were safely in the car and leaving the garage before he said anything. “So who was that?”

Duo blinked at him. “Oh, Anderson?” he asked. He was still holding his ribs in a way that was starting to make Tony nervous. “Just… a coworker.”

“A coworker?” Tony asked. “I didn’t realize you worked with NYPD? Outside of the whole… you know.”

Duo leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Either the NYPD didn’t trust Une when she said she got an agent in or they wanted backup. Either way, Anderson went under with the Kings about three months after I got in.”

“And you… covered for each other?” Tony asked, even though he knew he shouldn’t pry. “You said he would remember why, so why?”

Slitting open his eyes, he glanced over at Tony. The early dawn light made him look pale. He was quiet for long enough that Tony wasn’t sure he was going to answer, when he finally said, “It’s not something I talk about, but it has to do with your girl—Wanda? The same reason I make her nervous makes some people, just… panic. It’s really rare—I’ve encountered, including that schmuck and your girl, maybe half a dozen people that seem to just… be afraid of me.” He closed his eyes again and sighed, looking wan and much older than he should. “Anderson’s seen it, to a lesser degree. This guy… his reaction was severe, but.” Carefully, he shrugged his left shoulder. “It’s the worst reaction I’ve seen where someone stayed somewhat rational.”

“And what were the worse ones?” Tony asked, even though he didn’t think he really wanted to know.

“First one fell over a balcony and died when I was… ten?” He opened his eyes again, looking at the ceiling, trying to recall. “Pretty sure the second one is still catatonic.”

“You were _ten_?” Tony repeated. His son saw someone fall over a balcony and _die_ when he was _ten_. What did that even do to a kid?

Duo’s eyes slid over to him. “You shouldn’t feel bad for them. No one good reacts like that.”

“I wasn’t worried about them,” Tony admitted. “I was worried about _you_.”

Eyes opening wider, Duo sat up and focused on Tony, looking more alert. “Why?” he asked, sounding perplexed.

Tony stared. Of any response he thought Duo might have, that would never have occurred to him. He would have thought the question rhetorical, but Duo looked curious, like he was waiting for an answer. “Because you’re my _son_. Because you just had a Hydra strike team come for you. Because you were in a position to see someone panic so badly they fell over a balcony and _died_ in front of you when you were _ten_ , and that’s something no kid should have to see.” Tony ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “There’s so much you’ve been through, and I’m… so fucking _sorry_ I wasn’t there to shield you from most of it. And today, you were targeted by Hydra because of _me_. You had to kill, because of _me._ I never meant to bring that into your life.”

“What, death?” Duo asked. He snorted, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes again. “They’re not the first I’ve killed, and they’re exceedingly unlikely to be the last.”

“I’m sorry you’ve ever had to kill at all,” Tony said. In a softer voice he added, “I would never have wished that for you.”

“It’s a waste of time to dwell on counterfactuals,” Duo said, his voice a little tight, breathing a little more shallow, now that Tony was watching closely. They were just pulling into the garage, and the brighter light showed that it wasn’t Tony’s imagination.

“Duo.” Tony leaned forward and reached to feel Duo’s face. Duo batted his hand away without opening his eyes. “Do we need to take you to the hospital?”

“Nah. Just get me inside,” he said, but he sounded a weak.

Tony threw open the door, turned to Duo, but before could do anything, Duo had lumbered himself out. He staggered slightly, and Tony’s heart dropped into his feet when he saw blood between Duo's fingers.

“You said you were bruised!” he shouted, unable to help himself.

“I said ‘bruised, probably,’ which is probably also true. Gunshots, in my experience, tend to leave nasty bruises in addition to punching holes in people.”

“You were _shot_?” Tony’s voice hadn’t climbed octaves like that in years, even as his brain said _of course he was shot. The cops answered a “shots fired” call._ He grabbed Duo’s duffel and got out of the car, slamming the door, and watching Duo over the hood.

“Grazed,” Duo corrected. “I think I made it worse when I grabbed my bag. I wasn’t really feeling it before then.”

“And you’ve just been bleeding for, what? Half an hour?”

Duo blinked at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a drama queen?”

“King, thank you very much,” Tony corrected automatically. “And you _stumbled_.”

“I’m _exhausted_. I haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours, and I just had a massive adrenaline rush. Yeah, I’ve been bleeding for half an hour, and yes, gunshot wounds hurt like fuck. Let me stitch it up and get some sleep, and I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

Tony didn’t know where to start. He wanted to ask a whole bunch of questions about the sleeping thing since that appeared to be an ongoing issue, but he thought the gunshot wound took priority. “You’ve been shot before? How many times?”

Duo gave him a disbelieving look. “I don’t know. I don’t keep count.”

Tony had been afraid that was the answer. “Of course you don’t keep count,” he muttered, getting pissed off. “Why would rational people keep track of how many times they’ve been _shot_.”

“Black fucking—” Duo cut himself off. “Look, can we go up and get me stitched up? You have superheroes living out of this place. If you try to tell me you don’t have medical facilities to rival most hospitals here, I’m calling bullshit. Honestly, I heal fast. Stitch me up and let me get some sleep, and I will be just fine. If no one here can or will stitch me up, I can damn well do it myself.”

“Tony.” Hearing Cap’s voice as he and Barnes walked toward Duo about made Tony’s blood pressure hit new heights, but Cap said, “Maybe we should get Duo upstairs and treat the wound rather than yelling about it?” He was using his most careful, talk-someone-off-the-ledge voice, which normally would have made Tony lose his shit, but… he was right. Duo was bleeding, and that needed to be the priority.

Tony ran his hand over his face. “Yeah, fine. Let’s go. Cap, can you—”

“What the _fuck_?” Duo snarled as Barnes picked him up. “I can fucking well walk!”

“It’s called a compromise, kid,” Barnes said.

“Call me _kid_ again, and I might take it on myself to remove your _other_ arm,” Duo snapped, starting to sound genuinely angry.

Barnes gave him a small grin and said, “Yes, sir.”

Duo blew his bangs out of his face in irritation but didn’t argue or struggle, so Tony took it as a win and made a beeline for the elevator.

He should have known from Cap and Barnes coming down to meet them that the entire Avengers team would be waiting in the kitchen. At least Bruce had the dignity to have a first-aid kit and be useful. 

“FRIDAY said Duo needed stitches?”

“You are never going to convince me your AI isn’t creepy,” Duo said.

“Put him down,” Tony said, taking the first aid kit from Bruce. “Duo, get your jacket and your shirt off, so we can actually see what we’re working with.”

Barnes set him down on a stool, and he shrugged off the black jacket. “I should warn you—”

“Less talking, more shirt removal,” Tony said, pulling out gauze and digging for the stitching needles and thread.

He heard Duo sigh behind him. When he had the basics pulled out, he turned around, and had to stop and stare. Duo was holding his crumpled up shirt to his side, and he could see a blood smeared on his skin, which he had expected. The tattoos weren't that unexpected, although there were a lot of them, Tony remembered the shadow of what he could now see was a skull at the hollow of Duo’s throat. Elbows to shoulders were covered in solid sleeves. Big, broken, bleeding wings stretched out across his collar bones from the skull at the hollow of his throat, and _Death walks with me_ ran under them in ornate calligraphy.

What surprised Tony was the number and variety of _scars_ on Duo’s torso. He was _never_ allowed to complain about the scars he had from the arc reactor again.

Bruce, blessed Bruce, gently moved Tony to the side so he could begin treating Duo.

“I tried to warn you,” Duo said, pulling the shirt away. Tony’s eyes went automatically to the wound, which began to bleed again as the shirt was removed. It was a graze, in that it had taken a nice little chunk out of Duo’s side, but it for all that it had bled, it didn’t seem deep enough to have done more damage. A bruise already discolored the area around it, and it would probably spread as it settled. Duo sat still, letting Bruce clean the wound so he could get a good view of it. At least Duo hadn’t been lying about the severity, though even bullet grazes were more dangerous than the movies would have you believe.

“I think you should sit down, Mr. Stark,” Viz said, pulling over a stool and guiding Tony onto it.

“Tried to warn me?” he asked, feeling a little lightheaded.

Duo had the gall to look amused. “The body isn’t as pretty as the face,” he said with a tone that suggested he’d used the line before.

Tony was still reeling. There were _so many_. He worked with Barnes and Barton and Natasha, and they all had scars, but nothing like this. He could count all of Duo’s ribs, but he could also see the outline of his six-pack. Of the scars that seemed straightforward, he could see at least three that were obviously gunshot wounds, five that looked like they were stab wounds of some kind, and assorted, irregularly shaped scars that looked like they were probably from shrapnel—and those were just the ones he was relatively sure he could identify. There were at least two that looked long and deliberate. At least four scars were not only from the wounds, but bore the signs of the stitches. Tony wanted to say _but stitches are supposed to reduce scarring_ , except that didn’t seem to be the case with Duo.

“Are… you going to be okay?” Duo asked, sounding uncertain. “I think you’re paler than I am right now.”

He dragged his eyes off all the scars and forced himself to meet Duo’s eyes. “Fine,” he said, though he sounded faint even to his own ears. “I’m fine.”

Duo tilted his head to the side, drawing Tony’s eyes to his neck. There, at the base of his neck, small enough to be hidden by most collars, the name _Jesus_ was tattooed.

The idea of that… thug, that _monster_ putting his hands on Tony’s son, putting his _name_ on his son’s _neck_ , like some kind of claim, was the last straw. 

It was a good thing Reyes was dead, because if he weren’t, Tony would have to kill him.

* * *

Stark turned white, and Duo blinked. Okay, he knew his scars were bad, but the worst of them were on his back. They had been bad enough that he had covered them with tattoos. Now, they were camouflaged in his backpiece so well that people didn’t usually realize there _were_ scars. The ones on his chest had always been random and scattered and never bothered him much.

Banner paused, holding a gauze pad to Duo’s side, to shoot a worried look at Stark.

“If you give me the thread and needle, I can stitch this up,” Duo said.

Banner gave him reprimanding look. “It would be very difficult to stitch up your side without warping the skin,” he said in a calm voice.

“Well, yeah, but that’s what mirrors are for.”

That got him a wry look. “That’s what they’re for? Stitching yourself up?”

“Mirrors are multifunctional, but yeah, that’s one use.”

“Hold this,” Banner instructed. He went over to where Stark sat dazed. “You okay?”

“We’ll see,” Stark replied. Duo turned to see Stark stand up and Banner go around the island to wash his hands. Stark was fixated on him with haunted eyes, and Duo just didn’t understand. “How many?” he asked.

“How many what?” Duo asked, feeling like he’d missed something.

“How many of those scars are from Reyes?”

Duo stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Some of those were deliberate.”

That was _true_ , unfortunately. He’d pissed off enough people in positions of power over him that a few had decided to carve their revenge out of him. He had a whole patch of his left thigh that had been skinned once, and, well, _his back_. Mostly though, the stuff on his chest were incidental injuries—just people trying to kill him outright, not harm or torture him. Stark was glowering at him, demanding an answer, so Duo sighed. “None of them were from Jesus.”

Stark stalked around, looking livid, though Duo was pretty sure that rage wasn’t _at_ Duo. He stopped in front of Duo and pointed at a long, curving scar that started at his sternum and curled under his left pec. “Don’t tell me that was an accident.”

“It wasn’t,” Duo agreed, mind shying away from the torture session that had gifted that one. “But it didn’t come from Jesus.”

“That can’t be more than a year old.”

Duo snorted. “It’s _four_ years old. Look, I heal fast but I scar badly, and my scars take for-fucking-ever to fade. I swear, Jesus did not give me a single scar.” He almost added _he wasn’t that sort of sadist_ , but thought better of it.

He was unnerved by the hope he was beginning to see in Stark’s eyes. He was eager to believe Duo wasn’t willing to allow Jesus to injure him, which wasn’t correct. Jesus had never left _scars_ , but that wasn’t to say he didn’t hurt Duo or that Duo didn’t _let_ him. Duo liked to think he’d have drawn the line at Jesus carving him up, but he honestly didn’t know, so better not to go there at all.

“This is the first new, scarring wound I’ve had in over two years,” Duo said, taking a different tact. “Everything else predates Jesus.”

He meant it to be reassuring, but Stark looked crestfallen. “All of this… from before you were twenty?” Stark asked, and oh. Right.

_Well, fuck._

Duo didn’t know what to do next, didn’t know how to make this better. He’d never had someone react like this. Heero had worshiped each new scar, grateful only that Duo had survived. Jesus hadn’t been horrified by his scars or surprised by them, just accepted them as part of Duo.

Banner pulled his hand up to press it to the gauze. “Keep this here. We’ve got some topical anesthetic in the lab—”

“Don’t bother,” Duo told Banner, thankful for the interruption. “Obviously, I’ve got a high pain tolerance.” He used his free hand to wave in the general direction of his body.

“Just because you can suffer through something doesn’t mean you should have to,” Banner replied. Something about his tone reminded Duo of soothing a child.

Dammit. He had to be _nice_. Duo sighed. “No, don’t bother because it won’t work.”

Banner raised an eyebrow but hesitated. “We’ve got some good stuff—”

“It won’t work,” Duo repeated, and this was always fun to try and convince new people of.

Banner hesitated before he asked, “Is… there something we should be aware of?” with remarkable tact.

How to explain you let a crazy old man experiment on you when you were a kid because you held a grudge like a beast and didn’t care what the crazy dude did to you if it made you stronger, more dangerous? If it were just Duo at risk, he wouldn’t care if they knew he was a Gundam pilot, but there was a depressing lack of idiocy among the Avengers. Once they knew about him, it wouldn’t take long for them to put together the pieces of who the other pilots were.

“My immune system is weird,” he settled on, because it was true. “Most medications are minimally effective at best.”

“Even anesthetics?” Banner asked.

Duo winced again. “Especially anesthetics, which sucks, a lot.”

Banner looked him over with a critical eye, reached out, met Duo’s eyes for permission, got a small nod, then set his hand on Duo’s left shoulder, thumb brushing over a mostly hidden gunshot scar. “What about this?”

“What about that?” Stark demanded. He leaned forward, and Duo could see the instant he was able to pick out the scar behind the wings across his clavicle. “That… that broke your collarbone, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. I think the surgery gave the doctors more nightmares than it gave me.”

Banner paled. “I can imagine. Surgeons get used to depersonalizing their patients, focusing on the part they’re operating on. Having a conscious patient… is not something most are accustomed to.”

“You can’t be sedated—like at _all_?” Stark asked, visibly startled.

“I _can_ be, but it’s better not to. If it’s an injury bad enough that I’d normally be sedated for it, chances are good I’ll _wake up_ in the middle of it. Speaking from experience, that’s… way worse than just being awake the whole time.”

Stark took several long, calming breaths. “I ask this in all seriousness,” he began, grim as Banner moved Duo’s hand and began to stitch. “Have you ever considered a career change? Seriously, hear me out,” he added before Duo could open his mouth. “Whatever your file says, you’re clearly a front line, high-danger Preventer. You get shot at and shot _enough_ that you don’t think much of it, which is something that _this team_ does, for the record. You’re twenty-one—two, whatever. You’re in your early twenties, but you’ve got more scars than most of the long-term veterans I know. How many surgeries have you had to have? What happens if you need a serious surgery, one that would kill you if you were awake through it? Are you trying to put yourself in an early grave?”

He looked so worried and so pained, afraid for Duo. He barely _knew_ Duo—he had no right to look that invested, to care that much about him. And put himself in an early grave? Duo had so vastly outlived his expiration date that every day he breathed was an anomaly. He lived on borrowed time.

Stark… wouldn’t understand any of that. He was born a child of wealth and privilege. Old age was expected. Being a target of violence and illness was not. Fighting for his life, until he’d been held hostage in those Afghan caves, had been foreign to him. Stark had spent a year fighting for his life. Duo had fought his _whole fucking life_ , and Shini forgive him, but he was _tired_.

Duo didn’t have the words to explain any of it, not in a way that he could be sure Stark would understand. Instead he asked, “Would you?”

Stark looked confused. “Would I what?”

“Give it up? Stop fighting? Without your suit, you’re still just a man. You’re putting yourself in terrible danger every time you go out to fight something. Would you just… stop?”

Stark stared, but his answer was in his eyes—he wouldn’t stop. He didn’t feel he _could_ stop. Even if Duo asked, Stark needed to be what he was. To walk away when he could help? It was unthinkable to Stark.

“Yeah,” Duo said, a confirmation of what he saw in Stark’s eyes. “I didn’t think so.”

Duo was tired, but he didn’t know how _not_ to fight. He’d rest when he was dead.

If Shini were kind, that would be sooner than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: the Tornadoes & Constellations companion fic is now complete as well. It is Duo's early adventures as a Preventer with various ill-fitting partners.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For the love of—no, you do _not_ need to come to New York. I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
> 
> Tony rather thought that was debatable.

Not many people left Tony speechless, but Duo was proving adept at it. Tony didn’t like it, but he didn’t have an answer for Duo. Would he give it up? Would he walk away? Pepper broke up with him because he couldn’t give up the superhero thing. He had the power, he had a responsibility to use it, and he’d be damned if he’d trust anyone but Rhodey with the suit. In light of that, was it fair to ask Duo to give up his own job? If he were a normal cop or first responder, would Tony have been as worried?

Looking at Duo’s scars again, he couldn’t apologize for asking. How many close calls had his son had?

An upbeat, techno-sounding song began to play something about a pretty kitty.

“Ah, fuck,” Duo said, moving to reach behind him automatically.

“Sit still,” Bruce said, in the middle of stitching him up.

“Can someone grab my phone?” he asked. “Back right pocket.”

Everyone kind of stared uncomfortably before Wanda reached out and used her power to levitate it out and into Duo’s reach. He blinked at it for a moment before grabbing it, just as the ringtone stopped.

“Do I even want to know who you use that ringtone for?” Barton asked.

Before Duo had a chance to answer, the song began to play again, and Duo answered, otherwise keeping still for Bruce.

“Hey, Cat,” he greeted, then yanked the phone away from his ear.

“Stay still!” Bruce snapped, though he paused as they could all hear someone yelling.

“Duo Maxwell! Why do I have to hear about you nearly getting _killed_ from the _police_?”

Duo pulled the phone back to his ear. “They’re exaggerating. I wasn’t in any real danger—”

“He was _shot_ ,” Tony said, pitching his voice so it would probably carry to the phone. Duo glared at him as the person on the phone exploded.

“You were _shot!_ ”

“Grazed!” Duo corrected hastily. “I was grazed.”

“You had better be in a hospital!”

“Dr. Banner is stitching me up as we speak. It’s _fine_.”

Cat wasn’t yelling anymore, so Tony couldn’t hear what was being said. He was really, _really_ tempted to hack the phone or just have FRIDAY put it on speaker. Considering how Duo had reacted _last_ time he hacked his phone, he held back.

Duo listened for a minute before bursting out, “It’s not my fault this time! Why does everyone automatically assume _I_ did something?”

Tony could relate. Bruce tied off the stitches and slapped a gauze pad on with some medical tape, pressing just a little harder than necessary.

“Ow!” Duo twisted away from him. “Bruised rib, okay? That fucking hurt.”

“More than the stitches?” Bruce asked.

“Obviously,” Duo snapped back before turning back to the phone. “For the love of—no, you do _not_ need to come to New York. I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

Tony rather thought that was debatable.

“For—put your better half on. He’s got more sense.” He paused then said, “Will you _please_ tell Cat he’s being ridiculous and that you do not need to come check on me?” He leaned forward, looking defeated. “Of course you agree with him. Look, I’m staying in fucking Avengers Tower now, with Stark. Even by our standards, you’d be hard pressed to find somewhere more secure. You know if he shows up here, it’s going to become a fucking media circus.”

Who the _hell_ was Duo talking to? Media circus? Then again, how did someone find out through the police that Duo had been attacked? Who would the police have notified?

Or maybe he wasn’t notified specifically about _Duo’s_ attack as much as he’d been notified there _was_ an attack, and he’d assumed it was Duo. There hadn’t been much time to wonder about it, but Duo had been staying in a high-end room at one of the premier hotels in the city. He told the detective that he had connections and said that Tony owed WEI a new window. Why would he care?

Cat. Media circus. WEI. There was only one person attached to Winner Enterprise Industries who might cause a media circus.

No fucking way.

“Fine, whatever. _Katte ni shiro_. See ya tomorrow.” Duo hung up the phone, sighed and looked at Tony. “Hope you don’t mind housing two more?”

“Not at all,” Tony said. “But how long were you going to wait to tell me that your friend _Cat_ is actually _Quatre Winner_? How do you even know him? I know everyone, and I don’t know him.”

Duo sighed. “That’s because you’re earth-based and Quat spends most of his time in space.”

“Not going to deny it?” Tony asked.

“Well, he’s going to be here tomorrow, so trying to hide it seems counterproductive at this point.”

“Holy shit. If he shows up here, that could be a media nightmare,” Barton said, and Tony had to agree.

“Much as it pains me to admit, Tro won’t let that happen,” Duo said, leaning back, wincing a little and taking care with his side. “I give Quat a lot of shit, but he’s been with Tro for long enough that he knows how to be sneaky, even if he likes to pretend he doesn’t. I’ll just have him give me a call, we can let him into the garage and have your AI send them straight up.”

“You think it won’t make news that he’s on earth at all?” Tony asked.

Duo grinned. “Quat gets around way more than most people think. He and Tro were already on their way here, which is why they’ll be here tomorrow, not in three days, and I’m assuming Tro already has things well in hand.”

“Tro…?” Tony prompted.

“Trowa Barton. He’s Quat’s head of security and his partner, and he’s one of the best.”

Natasha frowned. “I wasn’t aware that Quatre Winner was seeing anyone.”

Duo laughed, though it was aborted when it pulled at his side. “Fuck if I know how they get away with it. They’re as good as married. The only thing _stopping_ them from doing just that is that Trowa doesn’t want the attention. No matter how good he is at fading into the background, if he’s Quat’s husband, he immediately becomes front-page material.”

“Any chance he’s related to our Barton?” Tony asked.

“No way.” Duo shook his head. He pushed himself off the stool and stumbled. Before Tony could move, Barnes was at his elbow. “Whoa. Thanks. Adrenaline crash,” Duo said, and chuckled to make it a joke. “I’d like to get cleaned up, but I can probably sleep now, so, yay?”

Tony frowned. “How often do you skip sleep?” he asked. Several of the team coughed and snorted, and yeah, he got the irony of him asking that question. He ignored them.

“I don’t usually do it on purpose, but I already told you I don’t sleep on a ship if I don’t know the pilot. I was up all night, lost six hours because of the time zone change, and then I spent most of yesterday at the precinct again. I just couldn’t sleep when I got back to the hotel—which given I was _attacked_ , it’s probably a good thing I wasn’t.”

“You’re safe here,” Tony said, hoping Duo would believe him.

Duo met his eyes. “I know that.” He turned to look for his bag, but Cap handed it to Barnes.

“You’re not carrying this,” Barnes said.

“Don’t get your stitches wet,” Bruce added.

Duo gave him a disbelieving look that made Tony and several others chuckle. “You’re kidding, right? You think I don’t know how to take care of wounds?” He gestured to his whole chest.

“You’re tired,” Bruce replied without apology. “A reminder never hurts.”

Duo rolled his eyes. “Yes, _mom_.” And, wow, did that make Bruce look adorably flustered or what? “Same room as before?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “There’s some extra clothes in there for you too.”

“Thanks,” he said, then turned and backed away from Barnes. “I’ll let you carry the bag, but try to pick me up again, Terminator, you really will need another arm.” He was teasing but the warning carried an undertone of sincere threat. He _believed_ he could do it. Then again, he’d taken out a Hydra team without apparently missing a beat, so maybe the confidence was deserved.

When Duo walked away toward the elevator, Tony stared. Given the density of tattoos on Duo, he shouldn’t be surprised that he had tattoos on his back, but he wasn’t expecting a complete backpiece. White angel wings shielded black devil wings, so real they looked like you could touch them. They reached from the tops of his shoulders to the ends of the wings disappearing under the waist of his pants. At some point, the wings may have stood alone, but now there was a detailed knotwork cross between his shoulder blades, the arms of the cross just visible before the wings hid them, going up to the back of his neck and into the dip where the wings sprouted from, the ornate point resting at the small of his back.

Wings on his back, broken, bleeding wings on his collar, a phoenix on one arm and a dragon on the other… Symbols of flight and fire and death. Just who the hell was his kid?

* * *

Bucky couldn’t decide what to make of Stark’s kid; all he knew was that he was drawn to him. There was no reason for him to want to be near him, to offer to help him. Bucky knew being near his kid was a guaranteed way to make Stark’s blood pressure go through the roof, but he couldn’t help it. The last time Bucky was this drawn to someone was Steve, only Maxwell didn’t need anyone’s help or protection.

He followed Maxwell into his room, not surprised that the kid remembered where it was even though it had been over a month.

“I need to get cleaned up. Black is great for not showing blood, but my whole fucking leg is sticky with it,” Maxwell said. “You can leave the bag on the bed.” He rubbed at his eyes in obvious fatigue before heading into the bathroom.

Before he thought about it, Bucky made to follow him, at least until the door nearly slammed in his face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Maxwell asked.

“You’ve had a fair amount of blood loss. If you collapse and hit your head, Stark will kill me,” he said, which was all true.

Maxwell rolled his eyes, but the effect was somewhat ruined when he followed it immediately with a huge yawn.

“Fine, Fido. Go sit on the bed and talk to me. I’ll leave the door cracked. You’re not coming in with me, but if I fall over, you’ll be right there. That work?” he asked.

As far as compromises went, Bucky could work with that one. He nodded and went to lean against the desk.

“I’m not much of a talker these days,” he warned.

“That’s fine. I’ve got plenty of questions, so all you have to do is answer them,” Maxwell said, voice carrying easily through the cracked door. His boots must have been kicked off, because they clunked to the floor. He heard Maxwell unbuckle his belt, pull it off, then his pants unzip. Listening to him undress was intimate enough that Bucky was relieved when Maxwell said, “You can start with telling me what the fuck is up with Stark and Rogers.”

Bucky frowned. “What do you mean, up with them?” he asked.

He could hear Maxwell’s exasperation through the door. “Rogers positively walks on eggshells around Stark, and Stark is doing a great imitation of a kid pretending someone isn’t there. I had a little time to read up more on this whole Avengers thing while I was in Brussels.” The sink started running, but Maxwell talked over it. “There’s plenty of coverage about the so-called ‘Civil War’ thing and the Sokovia Accords stuff, but no one really knows what kicked off the whole mess. Since you were there, I thought you could enlighten me.”

He was a little surprised Maxwell had noticed. How uncomfortable Steve was around Stark was obvious to Bucky, but he knew Steve better than anyone. He hadn’t thought it was that obvious to others. “It was about me,” he admitted.

The water turned off. “How so?”

“Steve found out I killed Stark’s parents. Stark found out Steve knew.”

Maxwell’s voice sounded a little farther away, but he could also hear the sounds of someone washing. “Okay, I get why that could be traumatic. But you’re here, so that can’t be all there is to it.”

Bucky _really_ did not want to talk about this, but if anyone deserved to know, he supposed it was Stark’s son. Besides, Vision liked the kid and would probably tell him if he asked. Better to get it from a primary source. “Apparently Steve knew for two years and didn’t tell Stark.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The heavy, wet sound of a washcloth hitting the side of the shower echoed back at him. “Two years? It’d be one thing if he didn’t tell him for like a month or two, but _two years_?”

Even Bucky could admit, it hadn’t been one of Steve’s better moments. “It was in the middle of the Sokovia Accords, and they disagreed on that too. Stark wanted me to stand trial.” The sound of a washcloth being wrung into tub echoed out; then the bath running.

“The Sokovia Accords give official World Security Organization backing to the Avengers, right? But it also restricts your freedom to act, if I understood the jargon.” The faucet shut off again, the sound of a washcloth being wrung again rang loudly off the hard surfaces of the bathroom.

“That’s about right. Steve didn’t—well, he still _doesn’t_ —like the idea of not being allowed to go somewhere if someone needs help because of a piece of paper. Answering to anyone other than ourselves makes him nervous too.”

“And he definitely didn’t want you to stand trial,” Duo finished for him. “I get that. But I can also understand why Stark wants some oversight, not to mention some help bankrolling all this.”

The sink was running again, and it sounded like it was being filled.

“What do you mean, bankrolling?” Bucky asked.

“Well, I would think before SHIELD went up in flames, they helped supplement his costs, but the tech you guys use? It’s all cutting edge and expensive as hell. I mean, sure, Stark can afford it, but with all the law suits and the insurance on top of what the hell ever else he was spending just to keep the team kitted out—”

Bucky didn’t realize he’d gotten up and shoved the door open to stare at Maxwell until he met startled purple eyes. “What do you mean law suits?”

“Really?” Maxwell demanded, annoyed. He had an oversized towel wrapped low around his waist, and he yanked it up, but not before Bucky got a look at a long, _recent_ , scar running horizontally, low on his abdomen. The gauze over his stitches looked dry, but the promised bruise was blooming on his ribcage made it clear that whatever happened to his stomach was healed enough that there was no bruising around it.

“Did someone try to gut you?” Bucky asked.

Maxwell glared. “Look, with SHIELD out of the picture—”

“What happened to your stomach? That’s not two years old,” Bucky interrupted, not caring whatever else Maxwell was trying to talk about.

“It also wasn’t a _wound_ ,” Maxwell snapped back impatiently. “Just drop it.”

“Stark needs to know if someone has been hunting—”

“ _Muerte mía_ , no one has been hunting—”

“Then where did it come from?”

Maxwell glowered and pushed past him, going for the dresser rather than his bag. He began talking as he searched. “There’s no official sanction of any kind for the Avengers. Because Stark’s literally one of the top two richest people in the entire earth sphere, people have been coming at him left, right, and center for damages incurred by the Avengers. If he were anyone _other_ than Tony fucking Stark, it would have bankrupted him months ago.” He opened several drawers, pulling out some clothing that looked brand new, then turned and leaned against the dresser. He nudged Bucky out of the way as he went back into the bathroom, this time shutting the door almost all the way. “There are practical reasons to be willing to sign the Accords beyond the general fact that having some oversight and higher authority is probably a good idea.”

Bucky would never say he was the smartest kid at the table. Among the brilliant minds in the Avengers, he was probably squarely at the bottom of the pack, but even so, Maxwell’s understanding of the situation left him feeling downright _stupid_ in comparison, even if it didn’t distract him from that strange scar. He knew that T’Challa covered all of their expenses while they’d been in Wakanda, but somehow he hadn’t thought about who was doing it after SHIELD went down. He didn’t think Clint, Steve, or Sam did either. It wouldn’t have even occurred to Wanda, he was sure, which left Vision, who had sided with Tony, and Bruce and Natasha, who also probably knew.

He heard tags get snapped off, paper and plastic crumpled, and the sounds of Maxwell getting dressed. The water started running in the tub, and trash was thrown away before the door opened again, showing Maxwell dressed in a black V-neck long-sleeve and sweatpants. The skull in the hollow of his throat sat framed in the V. “Did you really never wonder?” he asked, something in his voice that Bucky couldn’t name.

“I was recovering from nearly a hundred years of brainwashing. Sorry I didn’t think about how the Avengers were funded,” he snapped, anger coming quick and furious on the heels of his frustration, and with it the desire to lash out physically.

Maxwell shocked him by moving into his space and placing a calming hand on Bucky’s raised left fist. He didn’t flinch from the metal hand at all, meeting Bucky’s eyes. Whatever Bucky expected to see in Maxwell’s eyes, it wouldn’t have been calm or understanding. “I’m sorry,” Maxwell said, and his voice rang with sincerity. “I wasn’t trying to pry or to hurt you.”

As fast as the rage had come, it melted away in the face of impossible purple eyes. “I didn’t mean to snap,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. Even though he couldn’t feel Maxwell’s skin on his hand, he could feel the weight of it, and he missed it as soon as he’d moved. No one touched him anymore, and they definitely didn’t touch the metal arm.

“I figured, if it helps. You’re not telling me something I wasn’t already pretty sure of.” Maxwell waited a beat before going to pick up the pile of clothing, continuing over to the bath and turning off the faucet. He dropped the clothing into the half-full tub, pulled his sleeves up slightly before he knelt down to push the clothing down, facing the bath and asked, “So if you’re all still divided on the Accords, what is everyone doing back here?”

“Stark’s trying to work out a middle ground and invited us back.”

Maxwell looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “And you just… came back?”

Bucky crossed his arms. “He’s also helping me, with the… you know.”

To his credit, Maxwell looked curious but not in a creepy way. Still, Bucky didn’t want to talk about this. “So about that scar?” Bucky asked, desperate for a change of subject. “Stark should know.”

“There’s nothing to know. Leave it the fuck alone.”

“You said you hadn’t been wounded—”

“And I _haven’t_.” He took a visible breath, his shoulders rising and falling with it. “Can you just drop it? Please?”

“Not unless I know it’s not dangerous.”

“It’s not,” Maxwell said, running a hand over his face, looking wearier than even the first night in the Tower when he’d been delirious with exhaustion.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Bucky didn’t like it and wouldn’t be forgetting it any time soon, but he let Maxwell off the hook. “So, you’re on Stark’s side of the Accords?” he asked, sitting back.

A subtle tension went out of Maxwell at the change of subject. “I didn’t have a chance to get into the nitty gritty, but from the overview I got, I see both sides,” he said, turning back to the clothing in the tun. “I was Rebellion during the Eve Wars. I understand the need to do something no matter what the authorities say. I know what it means to live under corrupt and unjust systems and to feel helpless in them. I can also see why parts of the team would be super skeptical about having another authority to answer to. Enhanced registration is batshit insane and just asking for trouble. Way too easy to abuse against the good people who are willing to sign, and useless against people who are going to use their abilities for bad shit anyway.”

“But?” Bucky prodded when it seemed Maxwell wasn’t going to continue, because there was a “but.”

He stood back up, dried his hands on a hand towel, and met Bucky’s eyes. “But the only ones who answer to no one are terrorists. You mean well, but if you only play by your own rules… what really separates you from the bad guys?”

 _The only ones who answer to no one are terrorists_. Was it really that simple? No—it _couldn’t_ be, because Steve was way smarter than Bucky, always had been, and if it were that simple…

If it were that simple, why was everything still so fucked up?

“Just an outsider’s POV. Should probably have Quat take a swing at it while he’s here. He’s not technically a lawyer, but I can’t think of anyone I know who’s better at that shit.” Bucky didn’t reply since Maxwell seemed to be thinking aloud rather than talking to him.

He turned off the bathroom light and shepherded Bucky into the room, going over to sit on the bed, looking wrung out. Bucky felt bad for going down this path when Maxwell was already so running on fumes.

“I’ll—”

“While I’m thinking of it, one more question for you, before you head out,” Maxwell interrupted.

Bucky’s head was already swimming with the information and opinions Maxwell had given him. “Shoot,” he said.

“When someone shoots a gun, do you blame the gun or the person who shot it?”

 _What the?_ “The person, obviously.”

“Why?”

“Because a gun can’t shoot itself,” Bucky said, annoyed at the obviousness of the question and answer.

Maxwell smiled, a small, somehow triumphant flicker, but still there. “Next time you start to obsess on what you did while you were brainwashed, you should keep that in mind.”

Bucky stared. “I’m not a gun,” he said, because he wasn’t. He was so much worse than a gun.

“Weren’t you?” Maxwell asked.

He did not run away; he beat a strategic retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _really_ hoping I'm not shooting myself in the foot here, but for the second update, my beta is ahead, so you got a double-sized chapter, because I'm posting two together. I also really like both of these chapters and have no sense of delayed gratification. 
> 
> Also, I posted a [missing scene](https://angelselene.tumblr.com/post/626192930530623488/mariannas-request-stand-without-flinching) (if you liked Marianna in Ashes, this is the scene in which she tells Duo he has to take Jesus's ashes to his mother), and tried my hand at one of Duo's [tattoos](https://angelselene.tumblr.com/post/626454324016562176/tried-my-hand-at-drawing-some-of-duos-tattoos), so if you're curious, you can take a look.
> 
>  _katte ni shiro_ – 勝手にしろ—literally, “Do as it pleases yourself.” Subtext can be more like “have it your way!”, “whatever!” or even “go to hell!”
> 
> In general, I’ve avoided random Japanese, but as Duo’s talking to Quatre and Trowa, who are at least as multilingual as he is, I figured he’d be more likely to slip into another language if it expressed his sentiment better. “Do as it pleases you” doesn’t have the same punch or implication (though I have Duo use it earlier in the fic, but he’s talking to Tony so he translates it). _Katte ni_ is from “as one pleases.” _Shiro_ is command form of “do” and it’s pretty rude. Together, it’s got this background implication that you’re being selfish, doing as you will instead of what someone else wants. Since I think that is the exact sentiment he’s going for, and since Quatre and Trowa would understand it, he uses the exact words he means. 
> 
> The change from “Cat” to “Quat” – just in case this confused anyone or if you’re not that familiar with GW. Quatre isn’t pronounced like the Spanish version of the name with the _kwa_ sound we use for _qu_ , it’s more like the French “kat-tra.” Since this scene is in Tony’s POV, he hears “Cat.” Once he figures out “Cat” is Quatre Winner, the name changes. 
> 
> _Muerte mio_ \- should be a pretty obvious play on "My God" or _Dios mio_ , except, of course, Duo swears by Death not God. I think I've got the conjugation right, but if anyone knows better, I will take correction. 
> 
> Anyone want to take a stab at Quatre’s ringtone? I know Wufei's too, but his would be _way_ harder to guess from the narrative.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is this? Has Tony Stark learned to respect boundaries?”

“Miss Potts is calling again,” FRIDAY informed, and Tony thought he sensed a thread of irritation in her voice this time.

“How many times now?” Tony asked, only a fraction of his attention on the question, much more of it focused on trying to make sense of the Eve Wars, not for the first time. And trying to work out the window. When the door had been blocked, Duo had moved to the _window_. Why had he done that? The WinStar was a new, modern building, all straight sides and nowhere to grip. What had he planned?

“This is her fourth consecutive call. She has tried to call ten times today.”

He sighed. It was probably time to actually answer her then. “Put her through,” he said, shoving the windows he was looking at aside as Pepper’s face popped up.

“Tony,” she greeted in that particular tone she always used when she was gearing up to lecture him.

“What do you need?” he asked, hoping to cut her off. Things hadn’t been… tense, exactly, since they broke up, but they were in a weird place that he assumed was the reason people didn’t usually stay friends with their exes. Since she was the CEO of his company, they still had to work with each other, so it was better for them both to figure out how to be friends, but they weren’t quite there yet.

“Colleen said you’ve been dodging her calls for weeks,” she said.

“And Colleen is…?”

“Your publicist,” she said, long-suffering written across her face.

“Right.” He thought he remembered her. She was the brunette with the suits. Or was she the blonde with the nails? Probably better not to ask. “What does she need?”

“She’s been fielding requests for comments on your son for weeks. She’d _like_ to be able to give an official comment that isn’t ‘no comment.’”

“‘No comment’ is a legitimate comment,” he argued.

She sighed. “Tony…”

“Look, what kind of comment is she looking for? ‘We can confirm I have a biological son. Please respect his privacy?’” he asked. “Duo is a Preventer, Pep. He’s literally an international cop—and he just spent two years undercover. Call me crazy, but splashing his face all over the news doesn’t sound like a great idea. He was already shot this morning because Hydra found and targeted him.”

Pepper’s face immediately clouded with concern. “Is he okay?” she asked.

Tony picked up a random wrench that was on his worktable and shrugged. “Bruce stitched him up, but he wouldn’t go to the hospital. It’s not his first time being shot, and he didn’t feel it was serious enough to go,” he admitted, staring at the simple tool. He could feel Pepper’s empathy face looking down at him, but he refused to look up as he admitted, “He’s enhanced, Pep.”

“Enhanced how?” she asked, sticking to the facts to keep him on an even keel. “Are we talking enhanced like supersoldier”—he had to laugh at the fact that she still knew not to say Cap’s name—“or are we talking enhanced like Bruce?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“Definitely some sort of advanced healing.” He ran a hand over his face. “He has so many scars,” he said, looking up at her again. “He’s twenty-two, and he has more scars than all of the Avengers combined.”

“Well, certain supersoldiers don’t really scar, neither does Bruce nor the Asgardians, and you had a lot of yours removed, so I wouldn’t judge that too harshly,” she pointed out, trying for a little bit of levity.

“Part of me wants to show him off to the world. He’s strong and resilient and…” He took a breath. “He’s mine, Pep. I can’t explain it, but he’s mine, and I—”

“I understand, Tony.”

“Do you? Do you, really?” he asked, meeting her eyes on the screen.

“I can imagine, at least,” she said, and sorrow echoed softly in her voice. The silence stretched, full of unsaid apologies that weren’t enough, that couldn’t fix them. Pepper spoke into that quiet, able to break it without shattering them both in some mysterious way Tony never understood but wished he could replicate. “So what do you want to do about the publicity? If Hydra found him, it’s probably only a matter of time…”

He stared off at the ceiling for a minute, forcing his thoughts to stop scattering and focus on this. He hated it, but that didn’t mean Tony didn’t know it was important.

“Have her issue a confirmation and ask for our privacy at this time. Make it about protecting him from my enemies if you need to. It’s even true.” He didn’t tell Pepper that Duo had killed some of the Hydra agents. He probably should, because that was probably going to come out, but he just… couldn’t deal with it right then. Memories of Duo kneeling over a body, pointing a gun at Tony, no recognition in those eyes, chased memories of Duo stepping on an agent’s throat and coolly declaring _“Stop begging, it’s embarrassing.”_ He didn’t know how to feel about those, so he focused on Duo’s injury, on the history of violence carved into his skin. On the mystery of the window. Pepper would yell later, and that was… not fine, but it was acceptable.

“You need some sort of plan for a public introduction,” she reminded gently.

“I don’t… I have to talk to him,” he said.

“I know,” she said, more acknowledgement than platitude. “You also owe an RSVP to the MET Gala. You have a plus-one this year.” _Because Pepper had her own invitation._

“Yeah. Go ahead and RSVP.” He waved a hand as if he could brush it all away. He usually went because Pepper liked going, but he was trying to win over public opinion, and snubbing one of the most visible events in the world was unlikely to win him any good will.

“Maybe Duo can be your plus-one?” she suggested.

Tony made a face. “I don’t think it’s his type of event,” he said dryly, thinking of Duo’s uniform of black and weaponry.

“Well, not because of that. You need a public reveal of him. If you do it at the MET, no one will be able to argue you were hiding him. The security is excellent, so it should be safe, and you can dress him up so frilly and over the top, he’ll be nearly unrecognizable when he’s dressed normally.”

Tony opened his mouth to dismiss it, then stopped and _thought_ about it. It wasn’t a terrible idea. In fact, it was kind of perfect. He’d have to convince Duo, but worst-case scenario, he could drag Bruce or Natasha with. “Let’s go with that,” he agreed. “Don’t… don’t release it yet, officially. Don’t release it till I talk to Duo about it. I don’t think he’ll appreciate me making decisions for him.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “What is this? Has Tony Stark learned to respect boundaries?” she asked, and even though the corner of her mouth twitched, she managed to keep her voice even.

“Me? Never,” he assured.

* * *

It was coming up on dinner, and Duo hadn’t stirred since he’d gone to bed. Tony was on his way to check on him and was more than a little surprised to run into Cap on the way.

“Do you need Duo for something?” Tony asked, because there was nothing else on this floor for Cap to be interested in.

Tony did not find Cap’s obvious discomfort and embarrassment endearing. He couldn’t wrap his head around how someone who was so transparent had hidden the truth about his parents’ murder from him for two _years_.

“I was, uh, hoping he was awake. I wanted a chance to talk to him.”

That didn’t sound ominous at all. “About what?”

He may not find Cap’s discomfort endearing, but he could get a little vindictive enjoyment out of him being so out of sorts.

“He and Bucky were talking about some things, and I wanted to try to talk to him, one-on-one. Soldier-to-soldier.”

He’d forgotten that most of the year he’d spent in the caves while the Eve War was going on, Cap had still been frozen. Tony’s grasp on the Eve Wars wasn’t great—and he was trying to fix that—but Cap had been working forward from where he’d gone into the ice 75 years before.

“Duo wasn’t a soldier.”

This time Cap was the one wearing a skeptical look.

“No, really. He was Rebellion. Colonies didn’t—and still don’t—have any formal military. Before Preventers were established, the most they had were local police forces or mercenaries. Alliance and Romefeller had military bases and outposts on the colonies, but they answered to Earth governments, not colonial ones. Rebellion troops were mostly civilian and guerilla-style fighters, but no formal structure at all.”

Cap frowned at that. “No formal structure maybe,” he said. “But given the way Maxwell reacts, I think he’s had some training.”

“Well, sure. He was with Preventers for four years, not counting his time undercover. It’s run by Director Une, who was the right hand of Treize Khushrenada during the first Eve War. Think of her like Maria Hill to Khushrenada’s Fury. Alliance and OZ were both rigorously regimented and old-style military. A lot of that seems to have trickled into Preventers. Four years in the force, and yeah, I’d think he shows some training.”

“I looked it up—the Old Souls Statute was pretty strict on the requirements,” Cap said.

“We’d have to ask to be sure, but it’s unlikely he saw much fighting. The Eve Wars are still too close to have any remotely unbiased accounts available yet. From what I can find, it was a train wreck of internal struggle on the Alliance side—a couple of different coups, the Gundams coming down, the colonies turning against the Gundams, and somehow, at the end, the Gundams ending up saving the world, literally, and being hailed as heroes both for saving the world and showing that the colonies had been oppressed. Trying to find resources about Rebellion activity _outside_ of the Gundams themselves has been like pulling teeth.”

“If that’s the case, how did he get a reliable enough witness to support his claim for emancipation?” Cap asked.

“His witness is now second-in-command of the Preventers, Sally Po. If Po said she worked with Duo enough to make him eligible, the testimony’s pretty much bulletproof.” Oh, he knew that look on Cap’s face. “Stop it with that wheel-turning look,” he said, warning. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

“It’s just… strange, though, isn’t it? It seems like Maxwell has some really high connections. It feels off.”

“Official colonial Rebellion numbers range anywhere from the 5,000 to 50,000 range, but most put them closer to the lower end. It was a small community, and we know he’s hacking prodigy. That kind of skill would have been incredibly valuable.”

“But he’s not just a hacker, Tony. He was a field agent. If he were just a hacker—”

“Stop,” Tony said, and the tone brooked no argument. “This is my _son_ you’re talking about, so if you’re going to start spouting speculation at me, you damn well better have more evidence than your fucking gut.”

Cap ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He looked like he was debating something but came to a decision quickly. “He was tortured, Tony.”

Tony _stared_ because there was no way he heard that right. He had no idea how to even begin to respond to that, and Cap could tell because he barreled on. “You were looking at his chest, but Nat and I had a pretty close-up view of his _back_. That back tattoo? The artist who did it was a master, but it covers extensive scarring. I thought it looked deliberate because the wings fit the direction of most of the scarring, so I asked Nat. She agrees.”

He took in several slow deep breaths because he didn’t want to start yelling down the Tower right outside Duo’s door. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t prove anything. This may surprise you, but hackers _do_ get tortured.”

“Yeah, if they get caught. My question is how did a hacker get away?”

“Just fucking _stop_ , Rogers!” Tony snapped. “He’s my son, and he’s obviously smart. I could have gotten away, what makes you think he couldn’t?”

“Because he was fifteen with half of his back flayed off!”

“And I was thirty-eight with a car battery hooked up to my chest to keep shrapnel out of my heart when I built the Mark I— _under my captors’ noses_!”

“But you’re _you_!”

“Uh, children?” Duo said. Judging by how Cap whipped around to stare at Duo, he hadn’t heard him open the door either. “As fun as this conversation sounds, maybe you could save it for somewhere a little more private?”

“I’m so sorry—”

“We didn’t mean to wake you—”

“You didn’t,” Duo interrupted, putting his hands up to calm them both, one held his phone. “Quat did.” He waved the phone to make the point. Looking closely, he did look better, and he wasn’t groggy like Tony would expect if he’d been woken from a deep sleep. “They weren’t expecting to get in tonight because they weren’t supposed to have a descent window, but one opened up. They should be landing at La Guardia about now, so they’re what? Three hours in rush hour?”

“If they take a helicopter, more like half an hour,” Tony told him, mouth on autopilot.

Duo looked thoughtful. “How often do private helicopters land here?” he asked.

Tony winced, understanding the reason behind Duo’s question— _how much attention would a private helicopter landing bring?_ Once, it wouldn’t have been much. These days…

“I’ll run it by Quat once he lands and see if he thinks it’s worth the risk.”

“No one got a good picture of you from the hotel, but speculation’s running pretty rampant,” Cap volunteered when Tony would rather he hadn’t. “There will be eyes on the Tower for at least the next couple of days.”

“Fantastic,” Duo said, drawing the word out with sarcasm. “What’s your favorite Chinese delivery place?” he asked.

“Wong’s on Fifth,” Tony and Cap said together.

“Perfect. Let’s order that for dinner—I can give you Quat and Tro’s orders. If we target seven, is that too late for everyone to eat?”

“That should be fine,” Tony replied, feeling like he had missed a step.

“Cool—can you add an extra order of sweet-and-sour meat? Pork preferred, chicken’s fine. Quat tries to keep halal. He lives with a diehard foodie, so he mostly sucks at it, but he tries. He really likes black pepper beef though.” He looked between them and added, “If that works for everyone?”

“FRI—put in our usual order plus Duo’s additions?” Tony said.

“Done, Boss.”

Duo tensed, then visibly calmed himself. “Right. So, unless you need something else, mind if I get cleaned up?” he asked.

Tony tried to remember the last time anyone had managed to make both him and Cap trip over themselves like this, and failed. Duo nodded at them and turned to go back into his room, then paused.

“Oh, and one more thing.” He looked over his shoulder at them.

Why did that sound ominous?

“If you want to know something about me, try _asking_. I don’t tell lies. I might tell you it’s none of your business or I don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not going to tell you a lie.”

Not that Duo had struck Tony as a shrinking violet, but not many people met Cap’s eyes with that blatant of a challenge.

Tony hoped he didn’t regret it since Cap had never met a challenge he didn’t leap at.

“What happened to your back?” Cap asked.

To his credit, Duo didn’t flinch, facing Cap full on. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, a grin twitched at the corner of his lips. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”

That sort of amusement at Cap’s expense was all but guaranteed to get his hackles up. Tony had a _lot_ of experience with it. He couldn’t help but be a little amused to see Duo had the same trait.

Cap managed not to rise to the bait—at least not yet. “The scars under your back tattoo—how did you get them?”

Duo didn’t answer right away. He didn’t look like he wasn’t going to answer, just deciding _how_ to answer. Tony might have been holding his breath because he wouldn’t have dared ask, but _God_ , he wanted to know.

“Torture,” he finally said with a little shrug. “Forgive me if I don’t indulge your inner sadist with the details.”

Tony wished he could get more satisfaction from the fact that Cap looked sorry to be right. It didn’t stop him from asking another question though. “How’d you break out? Injuries that severe…” He didn’t have to finish. They were both painfully familiar with how debilitating blood loss could be, not to mention the shock from all the pain.

He didn’t expect Duo to smile. Small and bittersweet, but the memory didn’t appear to be crippling or to bring a flashback—both of which Cap should have been aware could have been reactions. People often had _very bad_ reactions to being forced to live traumatic events. “I’m flattered that you think I had anything to do with getting out of that hot mess. I was rescued.” The memory of his rescue must be more good than bad because the unconscious smile was probably the most sincere Tony had seen. “That answer the questions for now?” He waited a bare beat before nodding, and the door closed in their faces.

“That… is not how most people react when you ask them about being tortured,” Cap pointed out, though he sounded reluctant.

“I had that same thought,” Tony agreed. “We probably shouldn’t have this conversation here.”

He didn’t really want to have this conversation at all, but he wanted to know what Duo said that put such a bee in Cap’s bonnet to begin with. His bet was on Barnes. He nodded and let Cap lead the way.

They stopped at the elevator, far enough from Duo’s door that unless they started shouting again, there should be no way of hearing them, but still away from all the others. “So what did Duo say to get your boyfriend’s britches in a twist?” Tony asked.

“He’s not—” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Bucky said I might want to talk to Duo about the Accords,” he said.

Tony didn’t know what he expected Cap to say, but that probably wouldn’t have made the top twenty. Judging by how completely awkward Cap was looking, that wasn’t all of it though.

“And?” he prodded.

Cap looked at the floor, shifted his weight, glanced at Tony, looked back the floor. Good grief, what the hell had Duo _said_?

“Did… do… are you…?”

“Spit it out, Capsicle.”

The despised nickname seemed to steel his spine a bit, so goal accomplished. “Have you been covering all of our expenses?”

Tony rolled his eyes. _Money_? He should have known. People could be so weird about money.

“Tony,” Cap said, that particular tone that was somewhere between wheedling and demanding.

“Are we still talking about this? I’m bored already.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cap asked.

“Why should I have had to!” Tony demanded, angry. “It was obvious to Duo, who doesn’t even _like_ me!” he snapped. “Don’t worry about it—it’s necessary.”

“But you’re—”

“Do you happen to know anyone else who can cover it?” he snapped. Cap opened his mouth, but when nothing came out, Tony said, “Then conversation over.” He hit the button for the elevator, and it opened. “Catch the next one.”

The doors closed before Cap could protest. Tony wished he could enjoy the stricken look on Cap’s face half as much as he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barring something being horribly broken, two weeks from now will have Quat and Trowa finally show up and will be another double-sized chapter. The beta got me the next chapter back already (which only has one little note to look at) and has promised to have the next chapter to me before the next post, so--the next chapter _will_ have Pilots 3 and 4 finally arrive.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do I attract suicidally self-destructive _idiots_?”

Duo shot the notes off to Quatre, asked FRIDAY to tell Wong’s to expect two helpers, and set his mental clock to expect them about 7:00 with dinner. That done, and dressed in more than just the sweats he’d slept in, something he’d heard Stark say was niggling.

Stepping out of his room, he asked, “Hey, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Duo?”

“Where’s Stark?”

“He’s in his workshop.”

“Is it all right if I go see him?” he asked.

“Boss would be delighted! Go get on the elevator—I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

Duo sighed but did as asked. There probably wasn’t any point in arguing with an AI.

When he stepped off the elevator, Stark was already perked up and looking far more hopeful than any man his age had a right to. Damn Mei for wringing that fucking promise out of him.

“Hey,” he offered, hands in his pockets as he moved into the room a little more, eyes darting around to take in the Iron Man suits and all of the tools and odds and ends in the room. 

“Hey, yourself,” Stark replied, but he offered a nervous smile. It was the first time Duo was willingly interacting with him, so Duo supposed it was fair for him to be nervous. “Finally decide to come down and see where all the magic happens?”

“Gotta admit, it looks like somewhere I could disappear to for a few… years, probably.” He shook himself. “But I came down to ask you something.”

“Go for it.”

“When you and Rogers were arguing, you said you were hooked up to a car battery?” he asked, still not sure he’d heard right no matter how many times he played it back. His audio recall wasn’t as good as his visual recall, but nothing he could come up with made even a little bit more sense. He could probably research, but he’d _promised_ Mei he’d give Stark a chance, so he decided to go straight to the source. Besides, he could just _tell_ it was going to be one of those nagging things stuck in his head till he got answers.

Well, if he didn’t have Stark’s full attention before, he _certainly_ had it now.

“What do you know about my kidnapping?”

“Not a lot,” Duo admitted. He’d been a little busy at the time, what with the war and all. He came across a box holding something mechanical and said _Proof Tony Stark has a Heart_. The hell?

“I was visiting a base in Afghanistan, and we were bombed. Shrapnel fragments ended up in my veins, going to my heart.” Duo stared at him because that had been six years ago, and Stark was still _standing_. His amazement must have shown on his face, because Stark gave a humorless laugh. “A doctor hooked me up to a car battery as a jury-rigged magnet to keep them out of my heart.” He tapped his chest, then nodded at the box Duo held. “They wanted me to build weapons for them, but I built an arc reactor instead so I didn’t have to be hooked up to the battery.”

Duo sat on the first stool he could find, set the box down, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Let me make sure I understand this right: you built a miniature arc reactor in a desert cave, and put it in your _chest_ to keep shrapnel out of your heart?”

“To power a magnet to keep the shrapnel out of my heart, but simplified, yes.” He pointed at the box again. “Specifically, I had that in my chest.”

Duo stared at the size of the device and mentally tried to put it into Stark’s chest. Stark might be bigger and more built than Duo—not that the bar was set that high if Duo was the baseline—but he knew rib cages and how they held people together. He was also intimately familiar with all the vulnerable organs they protected.

“This thing?” he asked, picking up the box again. “This was in your _chest_?”

“Yup.”

He sat the box down again, a little harder than intended, but he needed to be up and to pace. To his credit, Stark let him. “Was it like… under…?” He mimed the ribcage. Not that he could figure out how that wouldn’t have been more dangerous, not less.

Stark rucked his shirt up. He had a few scars, none of them as gruesome-looking as some of Duo’s. Not a surprise that Tony Stark could afford the very best plastic surgery. Right in the center of his sternum was a discolored, slightly sunken area in a perfect circle. “It’s still healing,” Stark said, tapping it. “Sternal reconstruction, and the plastic surgeons did a great job minimizing the scarring, so if you didn’t know it was there…”

“How are you even alive?” Duo asked.

Stark pulled his shirt back down and shrugged. “I had a very good doctor,” he said simply. From his tone, Duo knew without asking that the “very good doctor” had not survived their ordeal.

Rather than let Stark get his head buried in Afghan caves, Duo asked, “No, seriously— _how are you alive_? Do you know how compromised your entire rib structure must be? How were you flying around in your person-sized tin can getting punched in the chest on a regular basis without it collapsing on you?”

Something in Stark’s eyes changed. He went from tentatively open to distant, jaw tight in remembered pain, and he wasn’t looking at Duo anymore. “I had—have—I have the chest of the armor super reinforced. Most protected place in the armor,” he explained, but he still wasn’t with Duo, not entirely.

Duo followed his eyes, but there was nothing obvious, just a glass-encased, red and gold armor suit. Stark looked away from it, as if caught doing something wrong, so Duo walked over to it. The suit looked shiny and well cared for, but it had seen action. Not all of the dings and damage had been completely removed. The chest plate looked perfect.

Too perfect.

He turned back to look at Stark. “So who smashed the chest plate so badly you had to replace it?” he asked.

“It’s not important,” Stark said, turning back to his table and pulling up multiple screens.

It couldn’t have been some random bad guy, because if it were, Stark wouldn’t have any reason to lie about it.

He was curious but not curious enough to risk some quid pro quo. He filed away the thought and went back to the bench to pick the box up again. There wasn’t much to see from the outside. Ignoring the fact it used to be in Stark’s chest, it looked unimpressive, but Duo understood how much power that little thing must pack. It could probably run a Gundam for a little bit if it had to. It was basically—

He blinked.

“Do you run the armor off of this?” he asked.

“I have a different reactor I use that powers the suit now, but, yes, a reactor powers the suit.”

Duo stared. “The arc reactor,” he began slowly, “that used to be in your chest,” he shook the box, “and kept shrapnel out of your heart, you _also_ used to power your armor?” he asked. If he sounded like he thought Stark was crazy, it was because he _did_.

“The electromagnet took very little of the arc reactor’s power,” Stark said, looking and sounding defensive. “It had plenty to power the suit.”

Duo rubbed his eyes. “Why do I attract suicidally self-destructive _idiots_?” Visions of Heero setting his own fucking _femur_ ran through his head even as his engineering brain tried to figure out how the damn thing worked. “How’d you solve for the palladium?” The question was out of his mouth before he quite realized he’d gotten there.

It was Stark’s turn to stare—they were making progress at least. “How did you know about the palladium?” he asked.

Duo raised an eyebrow, his conscious mind having caught up to the background processes. “Process of elimination? I mean, the reactor’s got to be powered with a metal, right? Given its energy output, I’m assuming the arc reactor is—if not literally—then very close to cold fusion, and palladium has been the favored metal in cold fusion theory for decades because of its ability to absorb hydrogen. It’s common enough for your thugs to get a hold of, and bonus points for a low enough melting point that you could work it with relatively unsophisticated equipment, palladium fits the bill. Except that it’s totally toxic.”

Stark was still staring, and Duo didn’t get it. “Am I way off base or something?” he asked.

“People who are not geniuses don’t usually get there,” Stark said, sounding somewhere between pleased and thoughtful.

Oh. Damn. He was usually better at playing dumb than that. He didn’t like the calculating look that entered Stark’s eyes.

“How smart are you?” Stark asked, drawing the question out. “Exactly.”

“Apparently not that smart, because if I were right, you’d be dead of palladium poisoning.”

“No, you’re right. The original reactor used palladium, and poisoning was a problem. I just… manufactured a new element for it. A better one. I wanted to call it badassium, but legal got their panties in a collective bunch—”

“You just… _manufactured_ a new element?” Duo asked. “Here I thought you were going to tell me you found out a way to manufacture Gundanium on earth and had used _that_!”

“Gundanium is hyperstable and nonreactive. It’d be a _terrible_ power source. It’s not even magnetic enough to be picked up in metal detectors—even if the manufacturing wasn’t impossible in a gravity well,” Stark said quickly. Duo allowed himself a mental sigh of relief. Dirtside, Gundanium was nearly as mythical as vibranium, and few people knew enough to speak about it with any authority. He nearly swallowed his tongue when Stark said, “Anyway, I answered your question—I made a new element to overcome the palladium poisoning. How smart are you?”

Duo sighed, annoyed with the question. “I don’t know.”

Stark threw his head back. “Oh, come on! That’s such a cop out!”

“Well, by what scale are we talking about? How do you even measure it? I’ve been tested, but I was never told the results. They just said ‘smart enough’ and started teaching me shit. I passed my general equivalency test to join Preventers by the skin of my teeth.” That was sadly true. With almost no formal education, he bombed the general knowledge section of the test. He had no formal writing instruction, so the written part had been a disaster as well. He scraped by on the math, science, and reading comprehension.

“You had to take some kind of standardized tests in school. How’d you do on those?”

Duo gave him a look like he was crazy. “I didn’t _go_ to school. Or do you not remember the part where I was fighting a war at fifteen?”

“I know the records for ‘Duo Maxwell’”—he made air quotes around Duo’s name—“don’t start until you’re sixteen, but elementary education is mandatory both in the colonies and any civilized nation on earth.”

“Most of L2 could qualify as a third-world nation,” Duo said with a flat look. “The part _I_ grew up in could. I did maybe a year of formal schooling when I was about seven. That’s it.”

“Doesn’t Preventers do some continuing ed programs? Considering how many agents qualified under the Old Souls Statute…”

“They do,” Duo conceded. “But they’re mostly work-related, not ‘find your place in the world’ related.” The pilots did have their own specialties, and they didn’t know _everything_ , but Duo learned that he and a traditional classroom setting were never going to get along well after a couple of classes. He simply picked up material too quickly, then got bored. He was a decent teacher—going by how in-demand his courses were when Une said he had to offer them—but not a traditional student.

Stark opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by FRIDAY. “Boss, dinner’s here.”

“We’ll be there in—”

“FRIDAY,” Duo talked over Stark. “Was it delivered with some extra people?” he asked.

“It was, Duo. Just as you requested!”

“Thanks,” he said, not letting Stark get a word in. “We should probably go.”

Stark looked like he wanted very badly to object, to ask Duo more questions, but Duo didn’t hesitate, already walking toward the elevator. He heard Stark sigh, then jog to catch up.

“So… Quatre Winner,” Stark said, feigning nonchalance as the elevator rose.

“Uh huh,” Duo agreed.

“You gonna tell me how that happened?”

“I’ll let Quat tell you.”

“Of course you will.”

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

The elevator opened up a floor below the common one.

“Mr. Winner thought it might be best to meet you privately first,” FRIDAY said. “The food has already been delivered upstairs.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” Duo said, getting off, forcing Tony to follow him.

Whatever Tony had expected when meeting Quatre Winner, he didn’t expect him to be in a laughably too-small Wong’s uniform with giant glasses and a terrible black wig. It did succeed in getting a bark of laughter out of Duo.

“Really, Quat?” he asked around a smile. It was the most at ease Tony had seen him to date.

Winner pulled off the wig and glasses, smiling a bright, innocent, little-boy grin that made him look all of twelve. The man who must be Trowa Barton hung back a little, half of his face hidden by a fall of brown hair. He practically screamed “bodyguard.”

The minute Duo was in arm’s reach, Winner dragged him into a tight hug and the innocent mask fell, replaced by genuine relief. “Praise Allah, Duo. It’s so good to see you,” he said into Duo’s ear, but Tony was close enough to hear it.

Duo hissed, and Winner released him like he was on fire.

“Gun shot,” Winner said, wincing, keeping his hands on Duo’s shoulders as if he couldn’t let go.

“Gun shot,” Duo agreed, but he was smiling.

Winner looked at Duo, really looked, taking in every inch of him, then he cupped Duo’s face in both hands and bent his forehead down to touch Duo’s.

“I’m safe,” Duo said, as if reading his mind. “I’m here in one piece.”

“For _two years_ I’ve had nothing to go on but my heart and a single report from Wufei. You are never allowed to do this again. Ever. Am I clear?” The demand might have been comical if not for the near desperation in Winner’s voice. He wrapped his arms over Duo’s shoulders, pulling him back in tight.

“Quatre…”

Tony was shocked to see tears on Winner’s cheeks. He sniffed, then straightened, but he seemed reluctant to stop touching Duo. 

"Crybaby," Duo told him, reaching up to wipe the tears away for him. 

"Guilty as charged," Winner replied, smiling. 

This was not at all what Tony had expected when he realized Duo was friends with Quatre Winner. This was more than friends—deeper. It wasn't romantic, but it was intimate enough to make Tony uncomfortable watching the exchange. 

Winner seemed to remember where he was and gathered himself with the skill of someone who was used to being under a microscope. "I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? Quatre Raberba Winner," he pressed his hand to his chest. "And my partner, Trowa Barton." He indicated the other man. "Thank you so much for allowing this intrusion."

Tony stepped forward and reached out his hand. "Not at all. Any friend of my son is welcome in my home."

Winner took his hand, and Tony was a little surprised to realize he nearly looked Tony in the eye. Just under six feet then. Winner had soft hands, a businessman's hands, and he enveloped Tony's as though he were someone precious, placing his other hand on top of them. 

While he formally met Winner, Duo had wandered over to his partner. Two Bartons in the Tower was going to get confusing, and Tony kept forgetting the guy was there, which was _not_ cool. He was surprised to see Tall Barton reach out, pull Duo's braid over his shoulder, then run his hand down it until he got to the end, where he twisted it around his wrist. Tony would bet good money that Duo did not let just anyone handle that braid. Duo gave him a wry look, but bumped their shoulders together. For the first time since Tony had met him, Duo's guard was down. They weren't talking, as far as Tony could tell, but they were holding a conversation in expressions and body language. 

"Uh, the rest of my—the Avengers," he turned and directed Winner's attention back to the elevator. “We should probably go up and introduce you.”

"We've held up everyone eating!" Winner suddenly exclaimed, as if horrified by the rudeness. 

Duo chuckled softly and moved away from Tall Barton, who let the braid slip from his fingers. He then took the moment to pull the Wong's tee over his head, leaving him in just a green turtleneck and jeans. 

"I'm honestly surprised that worked," Tony commented on the disguises. 

He was surprised when it was Tall Barton who answered. "People see what they expect to see." His voice was soft, lighter than one might have expected for a man who was probably 6'6", but he followed Tony and Duo back into the elevator, up to the common floor.

Winner did the publicity rounds while Duo and Tall Barton were content to take a backseat.

"How did you meet?" Natasha asked, steering the conversation, and Tony could have kissed her for it as they moved to the kitchen and found seats so they could begin dishing up their own plates.

"During the First Eve War," Winner volunteered. Tony was starting to get annoyed by how many mysteries seemed to come from that single year. 

"I know your dad—sorry for your loss—died during the Eve War," Wilson said, settling in at the counter. "I didn't realize you participated."

Winner blushed, and really, he was Duo's age, so like twenty-two, and he really was too tall to look that boyish. "Not officially," he admitted, sounding embarrassed. "My 'participation' such as it was, included mostly resources for the Rebellion."

"Is that where Duo learned to cook?" Vision interjected. Winner looked surprised. "He said that he spent time in the kitchens of wealthy supporters."

Winner slid a glance over to Duo. "So that's where you were hiding?"

Duo shrugged, unashamed. "You employ excellent chefs."

Winner gave him a look like he didn't think that was the whole reason, but he turned back to Viz. "Yes. I provided Winner properties as safe houses for Rebellion personnel."

"How'd your dad feel about that?" Tony wondered. He had met Winner Senior on several occasions, and he couldn't have been happy about it. 

Grief chased across Winner's face before he got it under control. "My father was a true pacifist. I'm afraid it was still a bone of contention between us when he died." 

Short Barton—Tony’s inner asshole grinned at that—decided to break the tension by tossing a question at his namesake. "How about you? How'd you get into that mess? I mean, you were all, what, fifteen?" 

"I was a mercenary," Tall Barton answered, neither his voice nor his body language gave anything away. Viz was more animated and alive than Tall Barton seemed to be. It was creepy. 

"A mercenary?" Barnes this time. "At fifteen?"

"Younger. I was an experienced mercenary at fifteen."

He could see the soldiers in the room trading suspicious looks. 

"So, why Rebellion?" Short Barton wondered. 

Tall Barton shrugged, a European gesture that could mean anything and everything. "They had the best toys."

Duo laughed. "I feel like this is the beginning of a terrible joke. A mercenary, a billionaire, and a thief walk into a bar..."

That got a chuckle out of Winner and a smile out of Tall Barton. 

But Tony was stuck on "thief." Duo was a hacker—he had no doubt about that. But he had self-identified as a thief. 

"Thief, huh?" Natasha asked. 

"L2 orphan, Red," he told her, lightning quick and with more good humor than Tony knew he had. "It’s damn near a prerequisite." 

"How good are you?" Short Barton asked with honest curiosity. Since he was a more than passable pickpocket himself, Tony understood the professional interest. 

"Save the tricks for after dinner!" Winner pleaded.

Duo grinned, a wicked, devil-may-care expression, and said, "I guess you'll have to see, won't you?"

Judging by the look on Short Barton's face, challenge accepted. 

Winner sighed, then shot a reprimanding look at Short Barton. “I want you to know, that when this gets out of hand, it will be entirely your fault.”

“Who says it’s going to get out of hand?” Short Barton asked with a grin.

.o0o.o0o.o0o.

It might have gotten out of hand, not that it bothered Natasha. Maxwell and his friends were careful to keep topics of discussion away from the war and their history, but Winner and Barton were up for sharing “stupid politician” stories, both updating Maxwell on what they had been doing and entertaining the rest of the Avengers, most of whom had their own stupid press and politician stories to share without getting too personal. The food was shared as liberally as the good humor. Natasha tried remembering the last time everyone had been so relaxed in the Tower but was drawing a blank.

Throughout the meal, Clint and Maxwell had moved around the room, playing pickpockets and trying not to get caught. By the time the evening wound down, it was time to take stock. Natasha had been tracking Maxwell and Clint both carefully, and she suspected Tony had FRIDAY doing the same, but she still thought Clint had an edge.

“All right, kid,” Clint said, pulling out an odd assortment of things he’d picked off people throughout the evening. A few knives, a gun, a ring—Sam’s—and a watch—Vision’s, then a Starkphone, that he looked at in confusion.

“Oh, sorry, did you think you grabbed my phone?” Maxwell asked, pulling his own cheap phone out and waggling it.

“Wait, you slipped this to me?”

Maxwell shrugged. “Not like you could check without being obvious,” he said, then pulled out another Starkphone. “But as for this,” he said and began to play with the screen. It only took him about ten seconds before he made a triumphant noise, and unlocked the screen. “Whoa!” He turned it off immediately and tossed it at Barton, who had been searching his pockets. “Hasn’t anyone told you there are things you shouldn’t keep on your phone?” He laughed, as if embarrassed. “Save that shit for a personal device.”

Natasha frowned. She knew Clint, and she knew he didn’t have anything inappropriate on his phone. From the way Maxwell was acting, it seemed like he’d found porn on it, but could he be covering?

“People don’t usually get into Starkphones in thirty seconds,” Clint snarled, defensive as he got back into his phone, checking it to see if Maxwell had put anything on it.

“Not usually, no, but you live with Tony Stark. I would think that would make you more sensible to how vulnerable tech is, not _less_ ,” Maxwell pointed out, still looking flustered as he leaned back. “Plus your password is predictable.”

“It’s random!” Clint defended, still flipping through his phone, though he still looked confused.

“It’s a six-digit PIN yeah, but you’ve got it set up to swipe in a pattern so it’s easy to unlock and you don’t really have to think about it. Seen you swipe it before, so I knew the general motion. You tried to be clever, so you started with 8. So, 8-5-2-1-5-9. I suggest you change that now, by the way.”

Everyone stared at him.

“That’s some Stark-level hacking,” Sam said.

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “It’s observation and logic. Stealing phones is useless if you can’t get into them, so I got good at getting into them, and most of the time, people aren’t as clever as they want you to think about protecting their shit. Most protections on phones aren’t going to stop someone determined anyhow. You really just shouldn’t keep anything on them you wouldn’t want someone to find,” he said, then added, “Your _taste_ , man,” as if it were embarrassing.

Barnes and Sam exchanged curious glances, while Bruce and Cap looked suitably disappointed and Tony looked like he was looking forward to hacking Clint’s phone and soon. He was going to be disappointed.

“That’s just unrealistic these days,” Tony said. “Everyone has everything on their phones. You had ringtones for your contacts,” he pointed out to Maxwell.

“I actually hacked my own phone so it would play certain ringtones when certain numbers called, but they’re not tied to contacts.”

“You can’t do that,” Tony said. “I might be able to do that, but—”

“Well, you can’t do it with your fancy Starkphones. The programs of the cheapos aren’t nearly so well protected,” Maxwell admitted.

“Is that why you don’t have a Starkphone?” Tony asked, curious.

“Besides they’re fucking hard to jailbreak? That’s one reason.”

“He also goes through phones like some people go through socks.” The dry comment came from Barton, which startled Natasha. That was the third time this evening she’d lost track of and forgotten about him. She didn’t like it _at all_. “At least I assume that’s still the case.”

“Well, the cheap ones are easy to hack, but they also don’t tend to take a lot of abuse, and I have a job that I take a lot of abuse in.”

“To be fair,” Winner said. “Heero broke a lot of them too.”

It was the first time all evening Maxwell’s old partner had come up, and Natasha was certain that Winner had done it on purpose. He’d taken too much care to that point to have it be an accident. Maxwell’s hands tightened on the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white before saying, “Heero broke a lot of shit.”

He pushed away from the counter, and Winner and Barton traded a glance that Natasha couldn’t read. “Anyway—Red’s necklace is in Stark’s pocket.” Natasha’s hand automatically went to her throat, and she gave Maxwell a rueful look when her fingers found nothing. “Two of Sabrina’s rings are in Viz’s shirt pocket, Cap and Red each have one of Terminator’s knives.” Natasha immediately reached down into her boots, and sure enough, found a knife that wasn’t hers slipped into the side. Her estimation of Maxwell’s skills went up as she watched the other patting their pockets and finding the lifted items. “…and Doc’s glasses are in Robin Hood’s vest.”

He sauntered toward the stairs, then paused at the door, waiting for Winner and Barton to get caught up with him. They each had a single duffle that had been hidden in Wong’s bags. “Pretty sure that means I win. See ya’ll in the morning,” he said with a cocky grin, before yawning before and slipping through the door.

“It was very nice to meet you all,” Winner said before following Maxwell. Barton paused to nod his head before bringing up the rear. 

The others had discovered the lifted items in the places that Maxwell claimed in the meantime. Under other circumstances, Natasha would have been amused at the range of perplexed expressions.

“When the hell did he?” Clint asked, pulling Bruce’s glasses out even as Tony found Natasha’s necklace in his pocket and handed it back to her. Natasha didn’t remember him doing more than pass by her, and he only did that once. 

“He passed the necklace off to Mr. Barton,” Vision said. “He showed it to me when he had gotten it from Ms. Romanov.”

“Your kid is like scary good,” Sam said firmly.

“Did Tall Barton lift anything else?” Tony asked.

“I did not see Mr. Barton lift anything. And the necklace is the only thing I saw him plant.”

“I think he’s right, Clint,” Natasha said, fiddling with the knife she’d found. “He definitely had you beat.”

“Has he stolen anything while he’s been here?” Sam wondered.

“He doesn’t need to,” Tony and Bruce said at the same time, and Tony motioned for Bruce to explain.

“He doesn’t need to,” Bruce repeated. “If he needed to, he would never have shown us what he’s capable of. If he needed something, he could literally walk down any New York street and probably get it. There’s no reason for him to steal anything from the Tower, where the risks of being caught or making us distrust him are so high. Even in this game, the only one he took something from that he kept was Clint—and Clint was playing the game so he was a fair target. Everything else he took, he dropped off with someone else.”

“I thought we caught him several times,” Steve said, frowning.

“We saw what he wanted us to see. If we didn’t catch him at least a few times, we would have gotten even more paranoid and attentive. Catching him made us relax, feel like he wasn’t beating us,” Tony explained. “In other words, he’s not just good, he’s a master.” He then turned and looked at Clint. “What _did_ he find on your phone?”

Natasha considered it a sign of personal growth that he asked instead of hacking it himself.

Clint frowned. “Nothing,” he said. “Just pictures of Laura and the kids.”

“He felt bad about finding pictures of your family?” Bruce asked.

“He said ‘you really shouldn’t keep anything on it you don’t want someone to find,’” Wanda said thoughtfully. “He acted like it was porn, but he meant your family.” It was an unusually insightful, but given what she had lost, it made sense that she would make the connection between the family and risk.

Silence fell over the team for a moment until Natasha broke it. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Tony, but I don’t think your kid is just a hacker.”

He gave her a flat look. “Yeah, I got that, thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read some author's notes somewhere from a doctor who was horrified by idea of Tony's arc reactor and where it is in his chest and what that meant for his entire rib structure, and I thought that was amazing detail to add. I figure Duo's familiar enough with how to kill people that he'd know how compromised Tony's chest was by it. 
> 
> So Quat and Tro finally hit the scene. I hope they were worth the wait.


	22. Interlude 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purple eyes. _(That can't be right. No one actually has purple eyes.)_

He kept seeing images that made no sense. Small, dark rooms. Manacles ( _which was just stupid, because he wasn't handcuffed now_ ). Flashes of excruciating pain. Explosions. Was that gunfire?

Purple eyes. ( _That can't be right. No one actually has purple eyes._ )

Laughter. Some malicious, some joyful. Purple eyes again. 

( _Wait_ , _I met one person with eyes like that, didn't I?_ )

_A voice filled with relief as purple eyes lit up. "Hey, 'Ro."_

Physically shaking the thought away proved to be a bad idea, and he choked down a cry at the resurgent pain. He could feel Oliviana rubbing his back, vaguely hear her murmuring soft nothings. Then there was thudding and banging and speaking and a cut-off yelp ( _Wait, it's not in my head this time._ ) 

Quiet fell, a strange, weighted quiet. The quiet was helping the headache to fade, but Oliviana began shaking his shoulder insistently and calling his name. He groaned and clenched his eyes tighter.

"Heero, you need to get up." There was barely-contained panic in her voice, and Oliviana _never_ panicked. It was enough to get him to open his eyes. 

"Liv?" he asked, squinting and finding her looking over her shoulder. 

She turned back to him as soon as he spoke. "Can you see me?" she asked, nervous lines showing around her mouth. A moment later, relief washed over her face as he sat up warily. 

It took a moment for him to process that there were _bodies on the floor_ , and a slim figure all in black moving around the room outside their cell. The door was open.

"Heads up." It echoed in Heero's head like he'd heard that voice before, muffled as it was. He caught the rifle that had been thrown at him without realizing he expected to. Something in him had responded to that voice. 

He hated weapons ( _guns, dammit_ ). Despite that, the rifle specs flew through his mind, and it was all Heero could do not to drop it like it was diseased. ( _Why do I know that? I've never seen this rifle._ )

Even in his mind, it was a _rifle_ or a _weapon_ , not a _gun._ ( _Why does that matter?_ )

He knew it did.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, holding it up awkwardly, looking at the black-clad man. He was shorter than Heero—5'5" ( _if you're generous_ ), lithe ( _is he just a kid? No, kids don't move like that_ ). Not a hair showed under the hood, his face was wrapped in a scarf, and wraparound sunglasses hid his eyes. 

( _That's important. Why?_ )

"Protect your girlfriend until the cavalry arrives," was the droll response. 

( _I think I know you. How is that possible?_ )

"Why did you—" Heero began to ask, but was cut off.

"I'm going to take another run through just in case I missed anyone, but,"—the figure went to a body and pried the handgun from the dead man's hands before turning to casually place it in Oliviana's—"you should probably be armed, just in case." She looked at her hand and yelped, nearly dropping the gun. Even from where he was sitting, Heero could see the blood.

Images flashed past his eyes faster than he could comprehend them. He needed to focus. 

"You're not getting us out of here?" he asked. ( _Focus, 01._ )

Who was 01?

( _You are, soldier. Get it the fuck together._ )

But he wasn't a soldier. 

( _Not anymore.)_

Their rescuer was talking. "...you probably want to stay put until the big boys can get here and... sanitize it out there a bit for you. It's rather gruesome."

Their rescuer's black clothing was splattered liberally with wet spots. It was raining outside. Heero had thought it was water. 

( _It doesn't smell like water._ ) 

Heero fought his tumbling stomach. _Why do I know that scent?_

"How are they even supposed to know where we are?" Oliviana asked.

The man grabbed her free hand and plopped a phone into it. Everything he had touched, from the phone, to Oliviana's hand, to the weapon ( _gun, dammit!_ ) left bloody smears. Oliviana swallowed visibly, but she didn't pull away. 

( _Good girl. She's handling this better than..._ )

Better than who? 

"You can dial emergency services even from a locked phone," the would-be rescuer explained. 

_A girl with wheat-blonde hair stood in the sights of his weapon, not enough sense to know she was going to die._

Heero stood and aimed the weapon at the man. The click of the safety being released was almost like a shot in the small room. 

( _No, a gunshot would be much louder_.)

The weapon was steady in his hands. For a moment, he thought he saw a long brown braid, but another blink showed no such thing. 

"You're not leaving." His voice shook a little, but he held firm to his resolution. This man had killed their captors. Heero was not convinced he was on their side. 

The man stopped, apparently at ease but something told Heero that was an illusion. ( _Finger on the trigger now. You know how fast he is._ )

_No, I don't_. _Do I?_

Heero was sure he could shoot him first. There was half a room between them after all. ( _You're not fast enough._ )

"You don't have a gun," Heero pointed out. ( _And you know that no matter how many knives you can count on him, he has more._ )

_No. I. Don't._

"I have less than ten feet between you and me. I don't need a gun. Knives are more effective at this range, and I promise—I can kill you before you can pull that trigger. So save your trigger-happy impulses for people who actually want to hurt you." He turned away again, deliberately putting his back to Heero, and Heero tracked him with the barrel. He moved to the door and was closing it behind him before Heero put a finger on the trigger, though.

The door shut, and Oliviana ran to it, shifting the phone to the same hand as the gun to pull it open. In the hall, Heero could see other lumps that were probably dead men. Their so-called savior was gone.

He could feel the drying blood drying on the weapon. He had blood on his hands again.

* * *

Heero didn't remember scrambling out of bed, he just hit the light in the bathroom and waited for his eyes to adjust so he could check his hands. His totally clean hands. He flipped them over several times, making absolutely sure before gripping the counter edge and hanging his head. 

"Another nightmare?" Oliviana asked from the doorway behind him. 

His heart was already slowing. "Yeah," he said shortly. 

"Still the kidnapping?"

"Yup," he bit back crisply. What else could it possibly be? He didn't _remember_ anything else bad that might have happened to him. 

"I know how you feel about therapists, but..."

"Liv," he started, then sighed. "I know you're trying to help, but—"

"I get it, okay? I was kidnapped too. It's traumatic, it may have been nine months, but that doesn’t mean you should magically be ‘over it.’ Trauma takes time to get over. Stop expecting yourself to superman through it." She came up to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, tucking herself under his other arm. He curled it around her, holding her close, grounded by her presence. "It's okay to need help." 

"I know that."

He could see her roll her eyes in the mirror. "You know it intellectually, but you don't believe it."

Heero sighed again. "Therapists just haven't helped much up till now."

"They didn't help with your amnesia, and fine, you gave them a fair shot at that. If you don't want to see anyone about it anymore, that is 100% your call to make at this point. But you _haven't_ seen anyone about the kidnapping, and it's still giving you nightmares." 

_"If I'm going to be killed anyway, it seems like fate to be killed by you instead."_

The migraine was immediate and debilitating. He just barely made it to the toilet before the pain made his stomach violently revolt. 

By the time he could even register the world around him again, the bathroom was dark except for a dim nightlight. Even that soft light seared his eyes like pins to straight to his brain, and he groaned, registering that his head was on Oliviana's lap. His mouth tasted like bile, and his abs and back ached dully in that way that told him he'd been dry heaving for some time, but they were distant discomforts compared to the migraine. 

"What happened?" he rasped, the state of his throat further confirming he’d been throwing up for longer than he remembered.

"You damn near had a seizure!" Oliviana's voice was so, so _loud_ in the bathroom. Heero curled up as if that could somehow shield his brain. "I'm sorry," she said, carding her fingers through his hair to soothe him, lowering her voice so it was barely more than a whisper. "You just scared me. I ready to call an ambulance."

"I..." It was so fucking hard to think around the pain, but he could tell the worst was receding. He never knew what the hell was going to set him off. It was infuriating to be so out of control of his own body. "What were we talking about?"

"Nightmares— _yours_."

"I had a nightmare?" he asked. 

"Another nightmare, yes," she corrected, keeping her voice the exact right softness to keep the migraine from getting worse. "I'm really worried about you," she said, and he could hear the genuine concern in her voice, feel the tension in her body. 

He was getting worried too. Three years removed from the accident that had stolen his entire personal history from him, the migraines were getting worse and more unpredictable, and he was starting to lose time around them. "All right," he said, his own voice as soft as he could make it and still let Oliviana hear him. "Go ahead and schedule the appointment with that neurologist," he said, wanting to grit his teeth against the pain, but knowing it would make it worse. 

"First thing in the morning," she promised. "You okay to move yet?" she asked, her hand moving down to the base of his skull and gently seeking out the worst knots. Her hands weren't strong enough to really dig in, but even the gentle pressure helped. 

"A few more minutes," he heard himself plead. 

"Whatever you need," she promised. 

He reached up, feeling blindly until he found her hand and could clasp it. "What would I do without you?" he asked. 

"Crash and burn," she said, but he could hear the teasing in her voice, and it made him smile even though he kept his eyes closed. She leaned over and place a kiss at his temple. "Not that you'll ever have to worry about it. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, Heero Yuy. For better or worse."

"Wedding's not for over a year."

"I know." She used her free hand to comb through his hair, and the pressure was soothing. "But asking is a commitment. So is saying yes. Besides, what will really change when we're married?"

"I'll have your name," he teased, the migraine easing. 

She gave his shoulder the worst excuse for a smack he'd ever felt. "I told you I'd take yours."

He rolled onto his back so he could look up at her, the migraine finally fading enough that he could bear to open his eyes. "My name doesn't mean anything to me."

"You don't know that."

"And you mean everything. Your family and their name are important to you," he said. "I don't want to take that away. I want us to have the same name, so it makes sense to just have me take yours." It wasn't the first time they'd had the discussion, and it probably wouldn't be the last, even though he knew that it pleased her deep down. "Fitzhugh-Stroh-Yuy or any combination thereof is just ridiculous." He reached up to cradle the back of her neck. "Besides, it'd be nice to not have people ask me if I'm Heero Yuy, like _the_ Heero Yuy." He didn’t dare roll his eyes yet, but he was sure his tone conveyed the feeling. 

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I am not kissing that mouth till you wash it," she told him. "Think you can stand?"

Heero closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but the last dregs of the migraine were ebbing away. "Let's give it a shot."

He took it slow, knowing from experience that getting vertical after a migraine this severe could bring it rushing back, but after a couple minutes, he was finally on his feet. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Oliviana leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Wash your mouth out, drink some water, then come back to bed, okay?" Then she reached over and lifted his cross, tucking it back behind his shirt. "Looks like it escaped again," she said, pausing to rest her hand against it from outside his shirt.

"Guess so." He put his hand over hers, feeling its weight and coolness press against his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone notice that Duo doesn't have his cross? 
> 
> _"If I'm going to be killed anyway, it seems like fate to be killed by you instead."_ – I gave my rusty translation skills a workout and retranslated this line from the original Japanese, so it doesn’t match the subs or the dub perfectly. From Episode 19 where Duo has been captured and tortured, and Heero goes to kill him and eliminate the leak, and instead decides to save him for no good reason (as Duo agrees that he needs to be silenced). I wanted to make sure I caught the nuance, and yes, Duo really does say that Heero killing him is _fated_.
> 
> Edit: Almost forgot! If you need some 1x2 loving after this chapter, last week with Ashes I posted a one-shot of Heero and Duo at what was pretty much the best part of their relationship (you may also notice that Stand is now Part 4 isn the Stars that Have People Names series because of it). Go enjoy if you haven't done so already (be it is smut!).
> 
> [A Dangerous Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640385)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony sat outside on the deck, thinking. Thinking about his son, the life he must have lived on L2, the skills he must have developed to survive. He felt like he was missing something, like it should be obvious, but what?

Tony sat outside on the deck, thinking. Thinking about his son, the life he must have lived on L2, the skills he must have developed to survive. He felt like he was missing something, like it should be _obvious_ , but _what_?

A swinging shadow caught Tony’s eye.

“FRI—is that—?”

“It appears to be Spider-Man,” she confirmed.

He stood and tapped his arc reactor, enjoying the suit as it built around him in a few instants. “Since we can’t figure out the older kid, why don’t we see why the young one is out this late,” he said and took off.

As soon as Peter caught sight of Tony, he swung up onto a building and waited.

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” he said, the same usual nervous undertone in his voice. “What a coincidence seeing you out here tonight,” he added, and Tony frowned behind the helmet because it wasn’t the usual nervousness. This was deeper.

“Peter,” he said, making the helmet retract. “Care to tell me what you’re doing out at 2 a.m. on a school night? Does your aunt know?”

“No!” he said quickly. “No, of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t know yet,” he said, going over to the ledge and sitting on it. “What are you doing out?”

He couldn’t see Peter’s face, but his body language didn’t lie any better than he did, and Tony could see how intensely nervous Peter was. “You’re swinging around my part of town—not a part of town you usually work—at 2 in the morning, and you’re trying to tell me you weren’t hoping to get my attention?” he asked.

“Er, well…”

“You know you could have just called, right?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to talk to me, you know, since…”

“Since…?” Tony prompted.

“Since you found out about your kid and all, I mean,” Peter charged on.

Tony wondered why he was surprised. He knew how Peter looked up to him, but he hadn’t considered that Peter might feel… replaced? Abandoned?

“Budge over,” he told Peter, then sat next to him. “And take that mask off. I want to see you when I talk to you.” He didn’t think he was imagining Peter’s reluctance as he removed the mask. “So, you heard the rumors?”

“You haven’t denied them, so… I kind of assumed it was true.” He looked at the mask in his hands instead of at Tony.

“It is,” he admitted. “But he’s not really a kid. He’s twenty-one—well, twenty-two. One of those. Got his own life, been married already. He doesn’t really need or want a parent.”

Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but the way he hunched in on himself made Tony’s heart hurt a little.

“You know I’ve known about him for over a year, right?” Tony asked. “I mean, I only finally tracked him down about a month and a half ago, but I’ve known he’s out there for a year.”

Peter glanced up at him, serious but confused. “You knew?”

“Yeah, I knew.”

“Why didn’t you…”

“Why didn’t I tell you?” Tony asked. Peter met his eyes, then nodded. “Because it didn’t matter at the time. Doesn’t really matter now. I mean, I’m trying to figure out how we fit into each other’s lives because he is my son, and I do want…” He hesitated but figured if he owed anyone this truth, it might just be Peter. “My dad was a great man. And a terrible parent. I’ve been both a terrible man and a terrible parent. I’d like to think I’m making up for being a terrible man as best as I can, but I’d really like not to continue to the Stark legacy of being a shitty dad too.”

“I can’t believe you’d be a bad parent,” Peter said immediately, almost painfully earnest. “And I don’t know how anyone wouldn’t want to be your kid.”

Peter’s unvarnished faith warmed him in some old and damaged place in his heart, at the same time it made him afraid. He didn’t want to fail this kid. He’d already failed Duo so badly, he may never find a way to make it up, but he couldn’t fail Peter.

He ruffled Peter’s hair. “Thanks for that, but Duo—that’s his name—he’s… had a rough hand dealt to him. I don’t blame him for being suspicious.”

“Is he… is he smart?” Peter asked. Tony could hear what he wasn’t saying. _Is he smarter than me? Can he replace me that way?_

Tony fully retracted the suit and did something he hadn’t done with Peter before—he put his hand around his shoulder. “Not sure if he’s smart like us. Doesn’t have a lot of formal education in his background.”

Peter leaned into him. “Does he look like you?” he asked, sounding less nervous, more curious.

“Not really. But if you’ve ever heard that old curse, ‘may you have kids just like you’? Pretty sure I’m getting every bit of attitude and sass I ever gave my folks back in spades.”

“Really?” Peter asked, looking amused.

“Eh, mostly he avoids me if he can. Which reminds me—Hydra’s already targeted him, so keep an eye out yourself.”

What? No. Is he okay?”

It was nice that Peter took the threat seriously, far more seriously than Duo did.

“He was shot, but he’s okay. Just a graze, and he’s a Preventer, so apparently he’s used to that.”

“He’s… used to getting shot?” Peter asked like he hadn’t heard Tony correctly, and it was nice to have someone else think Duo had downplayed the significance of being shot.

“If you ever get shot, please treat it seriously? The suit’s tough, but I can’t guarantee it’ll hold up against everything, and—”

“I’ll be careful, and I promise, if that happens, I’ll treat it seriously,” Peter reassured.

“I’m developing a new suit for you. I just need to balance the flexibility with the strength, because I know how much you need to—”

“Thank you,” Peter interrupted. “And I’ll be careful. I promise. Worry about your son. I can take care of myself.”

It echoed Duo’s own certainty so closely, Tony had to chuckle. He didn’t deserve this kid, but he was glad to have him in his life.

“Um, maybe this isn’t the best time to ask, but, uh, am I going to, you know, get to meet the other Avengers, like, formally? I mean, I’ve only fought half of them.”

“Next time we’ve got something,” Tony said, and it was harder now, to make himself ask Peter for anything, to rely on him, knowing he was almost six years younger than Duo. He didn’t want Duo out there doing his dangerous job, but Peter _was_ a superhero. He’d be in the fight no matter what Tony did. The best thing Tony could do was try to set him up for success. “And I’d like you to meet Duo—you know, if he doesn’t just decide to totally blow me off, that is.”

“You’d want me to meet him?”

“Once I’m sure he’s not just going to kiss off and vanish, yeah.” He didn’t know when Peter had become so important, but he was. He needed to know that regardless if Duo stayed or went, Tony was going to be there for him.

“I think I’d like to meet him,” Peter said, because Peter was innately good, and before Tony had ever laid eyes on Duo Reyes-Maxwell, Peter had become the touchstone that reminded Tony there was genuine good in the world, that there were people worth saving.

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair and gave a squeeze, which made the arm around Peter’s shoulder into something of a half-hug. “I’ll see what I can do, champ.”

* * *

When Tony got back inside, he knew he should head to bed, but instead, he headed down to the workshop. For some reason, talking to Peter had shaken something loose, and he wanted to take a second look while it was top of mind.

“Hey, FRI?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Pull up that list of Maxwells from L2. I want to take another look at it.”

“Coming right up, Boss.”

* * *

Dreams of bright sun, clean salt air, and soft ocean sounds were replaced bit by bit. The feel of the sun on his skin became the warmth of a body; the ocean’s rhythmic rumble, the steady bass beat of a resting heart; the scent of the sea became the recycled scent unique to recent space travel with a layer of something deeper and richer that made him think of wild places. A hand ran down his braid, easing him slowly into the waking world. He was so comfortable and content, it took him a minute or two to remember where he was and who he was with.

He must have tensed because Trowa soothed him with shush, the hand on his braid moving to his back, encouraging him to stay relaxed. “Take your time,” he suggested, voice sleep roughened. “We don’t have anywhere we have to be today.”

Which meant Quatre had blacked out his calendar for this trip. Part of Duo hated inconveniencing his friends, but a small part of him—a part he had done his best to bury since finding the bombed-out shell of the Maxwell Church—cuddled up in pleasure at the acknowledgment that he was important. He closed his eyes and breathed Trowa’s scent in, focused on his heartbeat, its pounding soothing rather than Shinigami’s more familiar primal pulse. Duo tried to remember the last time he had slept so well and so deeply, then gave it up to snuggle in closer to Trowa and steal his warmth. He wasn’t a furnace like Heero or Jesus tended to be, but the heat of another person was welcome all the same. Trowa continued to trace lazy, thoughtless shapes across his back with just enough pressure for Duo to feel, the wandering but constant touch was as reassuring in its own way as the sound of Trowa’s heart.

“Quat still out?” he asked, his own voice rough but low.

Trowa’s whole chest rumbled softly as he hummed his affirmative. His fingertips tapped _jetlag_ against Duo’s back in Morse code. Quatre and Wufei, the two who had traveled the least prior to joining the Rebellion, were always hit the worst by the jetlag. As long as they felt safe, Duo and Trowa could sleep pretty much anywhere at any time, which helped them adjust to new time zones in about a day, sometimes less. Heero had never been bothered by anything less than a twelve-hour difference. Falling asleep had never been something he struggled with. Staying asleep or sleeping well were different things altogether, but falling asleep was not usually a problem.

_Bathroom?_ tapped across his back, almost tickling. Duo sighed, but yeah, it was necessary. He slid out of bed as soundlessly as possible. He turned when he heard Trowa slip out behind him, and raised an eyebrow, seeing Quat cuddled into a ball on the other side of the bed, more than half of the blankets around him like it was the middle of winter instead of April. Trowa rolled his eyes, but his lips smiled in affection, and they made their way to the bathroom. They took turns in the water closet, then Trowa made him sit on the counter so he could get a look at his wound.

Quatre usually got the most flack for being a mother hen, but the truth was they could all be a little overbearing when they were worried. Duo pulled his shirt off so he wasn’t awkwardly holding it up. Trowa’s eyes found and lingered on the _Jesus_ on his neck, then moved to the rings on Duo’s hands. Duo told them bits and pieces last night, just enough for them to know what he’d done.

“Was he worth it?” Trowa asked softly, brushing a finger over Duo’s wedding band.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Trowa took his answer at face value, carefully peeling the bandage off his stitches. The bruise took up almost half his side and ached dully with pretty much every movement, but the edges of it were already turning green and yellow. A solid, very good night’s sleep speeding along his already impressive immune system. More annoying were the stitches limiting his movement unless he wanted to tear them out.

He had torn out a _lot_ of stitches over the years. It was why Sally didn’t bother with the fine or the subcutaneous ones meant to minimize scarring. The big, ugly black stitches were stronger, so he had more warning before he tore them. Usually by the time he was aware he’d gone too far with the subcutaneous ones, it was already too late.

Trowa ran a clean washcloth under warm water and carefully cleaned around the edges, pressing with care to test them and the wound. As he prodded, some clear drainage spilled out, and Trowa caught it automatically on the washcloth. The wound was tender, but the tenderness of healing, not something more serious.

Once he was satisfied, Trowa straightened. “You were lucky.”

“I’m always lucky,” Duo retorted with an exaggerated grin he hadn’t worn in long enough that it felt odd on his face.

Trowa went to the medicine cabinet and found a small, but complete, first aid kit, pulling out the gauze and medical tape to cover Duo’s stitches again. While they were draining like that, it was best to have them covered instead of getting it all over his clothing or having his clothing stick to them. Duo helped hold the gauze in place while Trowa taped it. Wound safe, he gave Duo’s braid a gentle tug. “We’d rather you be careful than lucky.”

“What’s wrong with being both?” he asked. The flat look Trowa gave him made him shrink back a bit until the slouch pulled at his side. “Got it. Be more careful.”

“Please.”

Duo jumped down from the counter, landing on silent feet, though the end of his braid stayed on it. He turned and looked at it, remembered exactly how long it was, then turned back to Trowa. “Do you think you could help me with something?”

Trowa raised an eyebrow, and okay, Duo probably deserved that look.

He picked up the end of the braid and held it up. “I think it’s time to get a haircut.”

Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed catching Trowa so off guard. The significance of the request, however, stole a little bit of the fun from it. “I’m not going to, you know, lop it all off or anything, but I’m well past ‘long’ at this point, and heading quickly into Rapunzel territory. I think it’s also starting to give me headaches.”

His explanation had eased the tension from Trowa, and he asked, “Only starting to?”

Duo shrugged. “It’s been long pretty much my whole life, but even for me, it’s heavy.”

“How short are you talking?”

“Not, by most people’s definition. Like, waist-length?” He moved his hand somewhere between his waist and hip to demonstrate the general length.

“Is that how long you want the braid or want it when it’s down?”

Duo ran the length of the braid over his hands, trying to guestimate the length of hair that Sister Helen had first braided when he’d been a wild ball of hair and attitude. “Down,” he decided, pulling the two ties from the end of the braid. He always used two. He rewound the first one at the end of the braid, then ran his hand down the length again, feeling for about where he thought the first cut should be. He put the second tie right at the swell of his ass, then reached behind him, trying to imagine how it would feel for it to be that short. He really couldn’t—it had just been too long—pun not intended—since it had been that short.

Trowa frowned. “I’m not sure that I should be doing this,” he said. “At least, not without proper scissors.”

Right. Duo had been so focused on just getting it done, he’d forgotten that detail. Easy solve though. He dropped his hand to his side, took a moment to remember how to move the muscles consciously, and found them. A squeeze, and the sleek, abyss-black blade slid from his forearm to drop neatly into his palm.

“That will never not be unnerving,” Trowa told him. “And also is not a pair of scissors.”

“I know,” Duo said, grabbing his braid before he could think about it too much, and pressed it to the blade just above the hair tie. The gundanium blade sliced through the thick strands with barely any pressure, and between one breath and the next, he had nearly two feet of hair in his hands that was no longer attached to his head. He thought he heard Trowa gasp, but it was secondary to the literal weight that had been lifted. He could feel his remaining braid beginning to unravel, but it felt… good. Right. He still had the hair Sister Helen’s hands had braided, and could keep it, but he still had his trademark length as well.

“Was it really necessary to do it that way?” Trowa asked, sounding a little exasperated.

Duo shrugged and gave him a small, sheepish grin. “You wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t.”

“No more shocks before I have my coffee, please?”

“I’ll try,” Duo assured, which Trowa knew wasn’t a guarantee. He sighed again, but Duo had flipped the knife in his palm to the hilt was facing Trowa. “Mind evening it up for me?”

“Put that damn thing away. I’m getting proper scissors for this,” he said, then turned on his heel and left, presumably to find the proper scissors.

Duo set the braid on the counter with care before he found the small wound the blade had made as it came out. He fed the blade back into its sheath of his arm, using the plate in his palm to push it back in by the tip. Putting the blades back always hurt more than taking them out, but Duo thought it was worth it if it meant he couldn’t be disarmed against his will. The weight resettled, the muscles twitching as they locked around the blade again. He wiped away a bead of blood. The cut from the razor-sharp blade was nearly invisible and would seal on its own within a few hours. He shook out his arm, making sure it was settled correctly—his first attempts to house the supersharp blades had been very painful before G had done something to make his muscles grip them instead of being shredded by them.

They were always meant to be a last resort, but it seemed appropriate to use a weapon loaded with memory and meaning to similarly sentimental hair. He did go ahead and put a Band-Aid over the tiny wound. It would appease Trowa if nothing else. Then he washed his hands, checking the pinpoint wound in his palm from the tip, but it had already disappeared into the scars.

He dried his hands on a second towel then began to unravel what was left of his braid. The longest ends reached the top of his thigh, the shortest ones brushed the small of his back, but though it felt weird, it felt right too.

Trowa slipped back in, a pair of scissors from somewhere in his hands. He gave Duo a onceover, assessing, then said, “Let’s see if I can do something with that. Turn around.”

Duo did, but paused to look over his shoulder. “Thanks, Tro.”

Trowa snorted. “Don’t thank me yet. You get to explain this to Quatre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post! I kept mulling over this chapter--specifically the Tony and Peter scene. I considered tossing it but I love it too much. I hope you enjoyed!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No survivors found_ didn't mean there weren't survivors, and given the coverup, being found would have been very dangerous. 

"Boss?" Tony was jerked out of sleep by FRIDAY's gentle prodding. 

"I'm awake," he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Time?"

"It's 8:30 a.m. Sorry to wake you, but Duo asked I let you know that breakfast is ready, if you'd like it while it's hot."

"Pull up the kitchen feed, on mute."

Given who the request had come from, he wasn't surprised to find Duo cooking again, though this time it looked like at least Tall Barton was helping. Tony watched Duo move around, already navigating the space as if he'd been there for months not a few days. A night of solid sleep and having friends near had done wonders for Duo, erasing lines and bags. For the first time since they'd met, Duo looked like he could be a normal college student. 

Tony looked down at the article he had found last night after Peter left.  _ Our Lady of Sorrows Church and Orphanage Destroyed. _

Tony wouldn't have thought much about it, except the article itself had mentioned that the church had been known locally as the Maxwell Church—for the priest who ran it. 

_ No survivors found _ didn't mean there weren't survivors, and given the coverup, being found would have been very dangerous. 

Tony looked back at the kitchen feed in time to see Duo's braid slide over his shoulder. It looked… a lot shorter. He was wearing a simple black crew T-shirt this morning, and Tony could see the ornate top of the cross on the nape of his neck, the colors of his half-sleeves bright against the black.

The church was destroyed in AC 87. Duo would have been seven. That kind of thing could definitely leave a mark that would lead to someone getting a huge cross on their back, even if the crossbars were mostly hidden by the wings. 

He could be wrong, but he didn't think he was. He also didn't think he could keep the fact he knew from Duo. Secrets had done so much damage in the recent past. Did he want to bring this up as soon as he knew?

As he watched the kitchen feed, Winner joined them. He looked a little sleep mussed, still not totally awake. He went to Tall Barton first, giving him a side hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then he went to Duo and lifted his arms to slip them over Duo's shoulders and into a hug. Duo laughed and reached back to nip Winner in the side, getting him to let go. Winner then noticed that Duo's braid seemed shorter and appeared to start grilling him on it. 

"Boss?"

"Yeah, I'm coming," he said. Probably best to ruin everyone's day right upfront. 

* * *

"Look who decided to join us," Bruce teased when Tony stepped off the elevator. Winner had fallen silent when Tony came up, but the look he shot at Duo said their discussion wasn’t done. 

With Tony joining, the entire damn team was there. Everyone seemed relaxed, or at least, they had been until he showed up. "What? Not making all three of our guests cook?" he asked. 

"Quat is not allowed to cook," Duo said with a pointed look at Winner, who dutifully circled the bar to take a seat.

"Ever," Tall Barton agreed. 

Winner looked like he wanted to protest but resisted. 

"Not going to argue?" Tony asked. 

"Cooking is not among my skillset, I'm afraid," Winner said with a self-deprecating smile. "Good morning, Mr. Stark."

"It’s for the best," Tall Barton said, and he set a large mug of steaming hot coffee at an open place at the bar. 

Taking the tacit invitation for what it was, Tony slid into the spot next to Winner on the end. 

Duo piled some french toast and bacon onto a plate, then slid them over to him. "I don't think you're allowed to give me crap about sleeping anymore," he said. 

"Tony should never be allowed to give anyone crap about sleeping," Natasha volunteered, and he sent a glare her way. 

"I got caught up in something.”

"That doesn't sound familiar," Tall Barton tossed in Duo's direction, and got a glare for his trouble. 

"Anything interesting?" Bruce asked Tony, an empty plate in front of him. 

Tony smothered the french toast in syrup—real maple, none of that corn syrup nonsense—and stared at it. "Interesting is a word for it."

Something in his tone must have set off warning bells among the group because if he didn't have everyone's attention before, he certainly had it now. 

Winner sighed, looking disappointed. "You really shouldn't have," he said as if he knew what Tony had done, and somehow the sad tone stung more than Steve yelling would have. 

Duo's gaze sharpened. "What did you do?" he asked. 

"I wanted to know where 'Maxwell' came from," Tony admitted. He pulled out his phone and tapped a few things. "Pretty sure I found it." He threw the article up so everyone could see it. Even for his son, no more secrets. 

Duo went very still and both his friends tensed—so they both knew about this then. Duo scanned the article quickly as if he'd never seen it before. There was no picture, just a 300-word blurb. 

"An orphanage?" Bruce asked. 

"It says 'no survivors found,' but it doesn't say how many casualties," Natasha said. 

Duo reached out and flicked the article away. "Two hundred forty-five," he said, and Tony had been sure, but Duo's casual knowledge still made his heart sink. 

"You were there?"

He crossed his arms and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Wouldn't be here if I had been, would I?"

"Two hundred forty-five?" This time from Wilson, who sounded as sick as Tony felt. "How was that not all over the news?"

"A coverup," Steve said, jaw tense, the hard look that gross injustice always put in his eyes there. 

"It didn't make the news because it was an orphanage in the worst part of the worst L2 colony," Winner said. "And because it was a coverup." He looked at Duo. "You may as well explain it now. You know they won't stop asking until they get it all."

"What actually happened?" Tony asked. "I know the article said that it was a gas leak. I assume whoever published it just didn't bother to correct whoever gave them the article, since any colonist with a third-grade education could tell you that they don't use natural gas on colonies."

"Yeah," Duo agreed, turning off all of the burners. "Someone meant for that to be evidence. That's why they mentioned the Maxwell Church," he said. He stared at the stovetop for a long moment. When he began to speak, there was something different about his voice. "On L2, it’s known as the Maxwell Church Massacre. I lived there for a year, and I didn't even know the church had another name. Everyone I knew called it the Maxwell Church. There's a plaque there today, where it stood. I don't know who put the plaque there, but no one fucks with the church grounds." He leaned back against the counter. A hand reached up as if to play with a necklace that wasn’t there. As soon as he realized he was doing it, he crossed his arms again.

"How many of the casualties were kids?" Clint asked, and when Tony looked, he looked pale. It took a lot to make this group look this bad.

"Almost all of them. It was run by, eh, maybe a dozen sisters and Father Maxwell. They took in whatever street kids the pigs—er, cops—could round up. Also lotsa whore-born. Whores knew their new-babes would be safe at the Church. It actually did good getting homes for new-babes," he explained, and his speech took on a rougher, more melodic cadence—probably the colonial dialect. 

"Over two hundred children were killed and it didn't make every news feed on the planet?" Steve demanded. 

Duo tilted his head and gave him a curious look. "We are talkin' 'bout the ring that released a plague to control the whore-born problem two years before that. Who’d care if more whore-born were offed?"

"A plague?" Tony asked, voice sharp. 

"I thought that was an urban legend?" Bruce said. 

The looks that the three colonists traded said it all: not an urban legend. 

"You survived it," Tony said, not a question. 

Duo laughed and it was not a nice laugh at all. It was the kind of laugh that raised the hairs on the back of Tony's neck. "Survived  _ three _ rounds. After the second round, got nabbed and sent to the Church. Behind the third, got the fuck off the ring." 

"Une, Relena, and I are putting together a suit to expose the level of corruption and the human rights violations on the L2 colonies pre-Eve Wars," Winner said. "It's... it's going to be bad," he added, grim. "The urban legends are tame in comparison. Most of it was done to control the population problems among the..."

“Among the whores and gangs, Quat. Don't soft-sweet it." 

Winner nodded. "Birth control was not readily available in the eighties and nineties, and L2 has been a haven for paid sex for decades."

“Paid young sex," Duo added with a snort. 

A nod of his head conceded the point before Winner continued. "Paid, underage sex, limited birth control, and even more limited access to abortions meant that the homeless and disenfranchised populations on parts of L2 colonies were legitimately out of control. Due to the depth of the systemic corruption, though—"

"They decided that the solution was to kill off the undesirables," Tony filled in, rage boiling in his chest. 

"As I said, we're working on exposing and bringing the people responsible to account for it."

"Summary executions scheduled all around," Duo shot, and he gave an ugly, vicious grin that said he looked forward to it. 

Winner held up a calming hand. "That's... actually not unlikely, if we can tie it to individuals. The outrage will be... intense. Especially with events such as the Battle of New York and Sokovia still close in people's minds." 

"If you need anything from—"

But Winner was already shaking his head. "With due respect, Mr. Stark, you're not a colonist, and even including Duo, you have few colonial interests."

"Neither do Une or Princess Peacecraft," Tony pointed out. 

"Une has history with the colonies from the Eve Wars, and she has a lot of firsthand accounts of the abuses of power because of it. Relena is engaged from not only the humanitarian perspective, but also because of her ties from the Eve Wars. She's well-loved and respected in the colonies. We have the firepower we need."

"Without potentially muddying the issues with Avengers and me," Tony finished. "Very diplomatic, Mr. Winner. That said, if there's anything—"

"If there's anything, I will certainly ask," Winner assured. 

Tony decided to take the platitude at face value. "Going back to the church, what actually happened?"

When Duo didn’t immediately answer, Bruce offered, "We can leave.” And okay, Tony should have thought of that. "Or you don't have to tell us if you don't want."

Duo shook his head. "Up, down, zero," he said, waving a hand as if in dismissal. 

"Up and down are a matter of perspective in zero-g," Tall Barton supplied helpfully. "It means that one way or the other doesn't matter." 

"Sorry," Duo sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm totally sliding into spacerspeak, aren't I?"

"You usually do when you talk about L2," Tall Barton said without judgment. 

"Anyway, the church." He lost that peculiar lilting rhythm to his speech, making a conscious effort to sound more Earth American. The shift was more impressive having heard what was probably Duo’s native dialect. "Some rebels were fucking with the Alliance, decided to hole up in the church, claiming sanctuary. Alliance blew the church rather than give in to their demands."

"What were they demanding?" Tony asked, trying to understand what they could have wanted that was worth so much collateral damage. 

"What every rebel wanted in those days—a mobile suit. As if one standard suit could make a difference." His eyes narrowed, and whatever he was looking at wasn't here and now. 

"How did you escape?" Barnes asked, his question soft. 

Duo took a deep breath. "They wanted a suit? I went to go get a suit for them. Who knows? Maybe stealing the suit is what set the Alliance off. By the time I got back to the church, there wasn't anything left."

"Wait,  _ you _ stole a mobile suit from an Alliance base?" Tony asked, needing to be sure he heard that right. "You were, like, seven."

Duo shrugged. "Wasn't like it was  _ hard _ . Stole from the base all the time.” The L2 cadence came back as he continued to speak. “Knew how to get in, knew guard rotations. Even had blackmail on a bunch of the guards at the time. Can buy any kinda sex on L2, and most of it's underage, if only 'cause street kids have early expiration dates, 'specially if they start turning young. Officers usually looked the other way, but fooling around with the littles, they took pretty serious.” He gave that fierce and frightening grin again. “Knew which ones did that, did I." 

Tony didn't know where to start unpacking that response, other than to take it as proof positive that Duo was his kid. Stole a  _ mobile suit  _ from a  _ military base _ when he was  _ seven _ . Tony kind of wanted to applaud the sheer chutzpah, but even he wasn't so emotionally headblind to miss the fact it wouldn't be appreciated. He realized he was focusing on what Duo had been doing to ignore the tragedy of what happened while he was gone.

"So, Maxwell, for the church."

"Maxwell for Father Maxwell," Duo corrected, glancing over to Tony and giving a half-apologetic look. "Closest thing I had to a parent when I was a kid. Him and Sister Helen, but I never knew her last name, so..."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Bruce offered. 

Duo rolled his shoulders back and straightened. "Death takes us all in the end," he said. "But if you wanted to know why I hate the Alliance—Keres take them  _ all _ —or why I joined the Rebellion, that would be the inciting incident." He rubbed his hands together and looked at Tall Barton. "Anyway, all this talk makes me want to go hit something. Very hard."

"Stitches," Tall Barton reminded.

"Yeah, that's why you're coming. I hear there's a great gym here."

"I'll show you," Barnes offered. Tony shot him a look that said  _ what the fuck are you doing? _ Barnes shrugged. "He can beat up on me all he wants. I won't get hurt," he said, then headed toward the stairs, Duo on his heels. 

"That isn't a bet I would take," Tall Barton said, and Tony couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Before following, he looked at Winner.

"Go,” Winner said. “Let him blow off some steam,  _ without _ pulling his stitches, please? I'll take care of this."

Tall Barton nodded and joined Duo and Barnes at the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're wondering-- _why is the Maxwell Church not called the Maxwell Church?_
> 
> In my experience, Catholic churches aren't named for the people who run them. That's totally done in other denominations, but not in Catholicism (at least, again, not in my experience). So to me, it makes sense that the church wasn't technically called the Maxwell Church--that was what the locals called it. So, my headcanon says that it had another name, and naming a church and orphanage for Mary seemed appropriate. Bonus points because it made it harder for Tony to make the connection. ;)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He doesn’t love you yet, Mr. Stark."

“I’ll just… keep an eye on things,” Natasha volunteered, and Tony had to feel a little grateful as he watched her head over to the elevator.  
  
Winner had continued eating through Duo’s explanation, which, as far as Tony was concerned, confirmed that he already knew it. He finished the last bite, looked at Tony, and said, “It’s very good. You shouldn’t let it go to waste.” Then he got up and walked around the bar. Bruce and Maximoff jumped up to assist.  
  
“You shouldn’t be cleaning up,” Bruce said.  
  
“You are a guest,” Maximoff added.  
  
“I’m used to it,” Winner said. “I really am a disaster in the kitchen. When Trowa cooks, I usually clean.”  
  
“What Duo said, that Keres thing,” Tony asked. Winner’s eyes flicked up to him. “What was that?”  
  
“Keres?” Bruce asked. “Like the Greek death goddesses?”  
  
“Exactly so,” Winner replied, looking pleased. “It’s an L2 thing, particularly prevalent in the poorest areas.” He took the pans over to Bruce and Maximoff stationed at the sink.  
  
“What is?”  
  
“L2 has a pervasive belief in Death as the only god worthy of the name. The only true constant in life.”  
  
“That seems a cruel god,” Steve said, voice soft.  
  
Winner pulled a plate off the counter and set it with such care it barely clicked. “L2 can be a cruel place,” he said. “Anyway.” He reached up and Cap handed him both his plate and Barnes’s. “It’s less a religion than a set of superstitions. Death has two faces, and servants for each face. Reapers for peaceful death. Keres for violent death.”  
  
“No honorable death?” Vision asked, curious. “Many mythologies extoll virtuous deaths—the Norse for example.”  
  
“L2 doesn’t have any such concept that I’m aware of,” Winner said.  
  
“And what Duo said—Keres take them all?” Tony asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
Winner set the stack of plates he’d gathered at Maximoff’s elbow and thought for a moment before continuing. “I’m only explaining because Duo won’t. To him, to speak of Death or its servants is to invite their attention.”  
  
“Speak of the devil?” Tony quipped.  
  
“Basically, as I understand it. Duo takes the superstition quite seriously. But invoking Keres, actively wishing a violent death on someone… that isn’t a thing done lightly.” He paused and put his hands on the counter, looking past them all and out the window. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him say it before, to be honest.”  
  
“It’s hard to wish better for people who would bomb a church full of kids,” Clint admitted, voice rough.  
  
“There’s one thing Duo didn’t tell you,” Winner said. “About the kids.” He took a deep breath, then met Tony’s eyes, hard and unyielding. “Duo was the oldest child at the church at the time.”  
  
Tony had no response for that, and he couldn’t be happy that everyone on his team looked stricken at the knowledge.  
  
“You need to stop digging,” Winner said, soft but it was a command. “The Maxwell Church Massacre is an old pain. If you keep digging, you will find fresher wounds, and if you hope to have any part of him, he needs to share those with you. He doesn’t love you yet, Mr. Stark. Do not give him a reason to believe you are a threat. Duo Maxwell is not an enemy you want.”  
  
“What, like the Alliance?” Tony couldn’t resist the taunt.  
  
Winner merely raised his eyebrows as if Tony had demonstrated his point. “Before being facetious, I would consider exactly which side of that war your son was on and who survived it.”  
  


* * *

  
“Just so we’re clear,” Barton’s level voice floated up to Natasha. “If you pull your stitches, I’m letting _Quatre_ sew them back up.”  
  
“Is that bad?” Barnes asked. Natasha made herself comfortable on the catwalk above the gym, so she had a good view but wasn’t in the way. All three men glanced up at her, and she waved at them, flashing her best grin.  
  
“Let’s just say that Tro’s the domesticated one of the pair.”  
  
“I’m domesticated?” Barton asked, and though his tone was even, something seemed taunting.  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Happily,” Barton retorted without missing a beat, that same even, nearly emotionless voice.  
  
It startled a chuckle out of Maxwell. “It’s been too long if I’ve forgotten what a covert letch you can be,” he said.  
  
“You two done?” Barnes asked.  
  
“That would be disappointing,” Barton said, and the deadpan got a soft chuckle from Natasha.  
  
“You really shouldn’t encourage him,” Maxwell said, looking up at Natasha, but he was grinning, Barton’s teasing shaking some of the dark mood.  
  
“Something tells me you’re terrible together,” she replied, willing to play along.  
  
“It’s not nearly as much fun anymore,” Barton admitted. “Quatre isn’t as easily flustered as he used to be.”  
  
“Bet Wuffers is still, though.”  
  
“No bet. I don’t know how Sally hasn’t broken him yet. She’s at least as bad as we are.”  
  
While they bantered, Maxwell had been stretching, taking care with his side, testing the limits. His flexibility despite the wound was still impressive. “Worse. She’s a _woman_.”  
  
“What’s wrong with her being a woman?” Natasha wondered.  
  
“Nothing, exactly. It’s just…” Maxwell looked at Barton for the words.  
  
“Wufei used to be a raging misogynist. Sally, among others, rather rudely disabused him of that opinion. But he’s still very…”  
  
“Straight-laced?” Maxwell suggested.  
  
Barton tilted his head as if accepting it. “I was going to say prudish, but that works. He’s from L5, so women had very specific places, love and pleasure had little to do with sex, and God forbid anyone actually _talk_ about what was done behind closed doors.”  
  
“Yet he’s friends with us,” Maxwell quipped as if it were mystifying.  
  
“Dorothy and I have a running bet on a masochistic streak.”  
  
That pulled Maxwell up short, and he looked thoughtful. “Usual stakes on a humiliation kink?”  
  
“This _is_ one of your friends?” Barnes asked, but he looked more bemused than irritated.  
  
“Oh please,” Maxwell rolled his eyes, then bent over backward and did an easy walkover, then lifted his shirt to check the gauze on his side. While it was a little discolored from discharge, there didn’t appear to be any blood. Natasha was honestly surprised that it didn’t tear the stitches open. “If you tell me you didn’t yank Rogers’ chain, I call bullshit. Wu’s just easy to pick on, and almost no one else will. It’s good for him, really.”  
  
“No one will?” Natasha asked.  
  
“He’s got the whole ‘look down your nose at the world’ thing going for him.”  
  
“And he’s a master in at least six different martial arts forms,” Barton added, leaning lazily against a weight machine and crossing his arms.  
  
“Yeah, there’s that too. Most people aren’t willing to poke the dragon, and nothing about him would indicate he actually knows what a sense of humor _is_ , much less that he has one.”  
  
“He must if he willingly puts up with you chuckleheads,” she said.  
  
“Ooo, Tro, that was a burn, wasn’t it? Or an attempt at one?”  
  
“I give it a four.”  
  
“Yeah, kinda cute, wasn’t it?”  
  
The whip-quick wit definitely brought Tony to mind, though Maxwell’s quips were far less barbed than Tony’s usually were.  
  
“We gonna do this or not?” Barnes asked.  
  
“Oh, we’re gonna do this, big guy.”  
  
“I’m not big, you’re a runt.”  
  
Maxwell gave him a blatant once-over. “Sure, Terminator.” Then he was moving. He was fast—at least as fast as Natasha herself, maybe faster. She could tell that Barnes was putting effort into staying ahead of him, which was unexpected. She was so intent on watching the men below her, she almost didn’t notice Barton before he settled on the railing above her. She spared him no more than a glance because even hindered—and Duo obviously was—he was _much_ better than she anticipated, and she was getting a little worried about him triggering some of Barnes’s reflexes.  
  
“It should be fine. He’s in control,” Barton said, voice low enough not to carry.  
  
“Barnes or Maxwell?”  
  
“I meant Duo, but Barnes seems fine.”  
  
She risked a glance up. “You were winding him down.”  
  
“It would have been bad for Duo to spar in that headspace,” Barton confirmed.  
  
Something in his voice made her really look at him. “You really think he could have hurt Barnes. You know he’s a literal supersoldier, right?”  
  
Barton didn’t take his eyes from the pair, as he said, “If you’ve been fighting opponents bigger and stronger and more skilled than you your whole life, is it really that different than fighting a supersoldier?”  
  
She turned her attention back to Maxwell and Barnes, watching them move. “He’s sparred with supersoldiers before,” Natasha countered. It was a skill, sparring with someone who was fundamentally stronger. Maxwell had it. He understood how his speed balanced against superior size, weight, and strength, knew how to use leverage to his advantage.  
  
“He used to spar with Wufei regularly.”  
  
Maybe. She could see influences of different martial arts as if he had cherry-picked the parts best suited to his own frame and style. That speed might give him a fighting chance with the best martial artists, but the way he knew how to use Barnes’s strength against him—that was a different skill altogether, and one could only be won from fighting with not just _better_ opponents, but _innately superior_ opponents. “You don’t get that good at fighting people who are that strong without practice,” she said.  
  
She felt Barton’s gaze, but as the sparring was intensifying, she didn’t dare take her eyes away. “When do you think Duo has ever had a chance to spar with someone in weight class?” Barton asked.  
  
Barnes slammed Maxwell to the mat, getting a yelp. Barnes stood and held out a hand. Maxwell glared but took it, and allowed Barnes to pull him to his feet. “Again,” he demanded.  
  
"Were you surprised?" Natasha asked. Green eyes slid over and an eyebrow raised. "About Maxwell and Reyes?"  
  
"Not especially."  
  
"It didn't surprise you that your friend got involved with a murdering psychopath?" Natasha pressed, because it certainly bothered Tony, and she was pretty sure it would bother most normal people.   
  
His eyes flicked to her again before returning to Maxwell and Barnes. "Not especially."  
  
The neutral answer would have been more irritating if she hadn't seen him bantering with Maxwell before. She was pretty sure he was pulling her chain. Though even if he were, the response was informative. She didn't think either of them had read Maxwell the riot act over what he'd done. But what did it say about Maxwell that his getting involved—even for an assignment—with someone like Reyes didn't really raise eyebrows?  
  
As if he could feel the direction her thoughts were taking, Barton somehow gave the impression of sighing without actually doing so, and said, "Duo has a saying."  
  
This time she raised her eyebrow.   
  
"Few people are all one thing."   
  
"Not much of a saying. People are complicated."  
  
Barton shook his head. "He means it more globally. Few people are simply good or evil, black or white. Most of us are shades of gray. Your average person trying to live a generally good life tends to view criminals as all bad. They have difficulty separating the actions, regardless of their motivations, from the person."  
  
"Like the kid who starts dealing to support his family?" she asked, curious as to how he'd react to it.   
  
He gave her a look that made her think he wanted to roll his eyes, so he didn't appreciate her going for the cliché. "More like how the murdering psychopath loves his mom. Average people struggle with that. That the bad guys are still people—most of them. Outliers exist, but they are outliers."   
  
She thought about it for a minute, then thought about what she'd seen from Maxwell, limited though the exposure was, and it made sense. It explained his oddly easy acceptance of Barnes, for one. It probably also made him a frighteningly good undercover agent.   
  
"He did still kill three Hydra agents," she pointed out as Barnes took Maxwell to the mat again. Maxwell was up faster this time, not looking at all deterred.   
  
"He did."  
  
"How does he reconcile that? I would think that kind of empathy would be detrimental."  
  
"If you want Duo's philosophy on the use of lethal force, you should ask Duo."   
  
"Would he tell me if I asked?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"But you know."  
  
"It's not my place to tell. You asked if I was surprised Duo got involved with someone like Reyes. The answer is no. Because you asked why, I told you about Duo's ability to see the man in the monster."  
  
"Does it surprise you that someone like Reyes would be drawn to Maxwell?"  
  
Barton actually snorted. "No."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Barton looked at her, then the hairs on her arm raised, and he very pointedly looked back down. Natasha followed his gaze. Maxwell had managed to pin Barnes, and judging by the way he tapped the captive throat, if he'd had a knife and the inclination, Barnes would be dead.   
  
"One for me," he said, and there was a laugh in his voice as he got up, letting Barnes go. Next to her, Barton started breathing again. She hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.   
  
"Three to one," Barnes said, his body language more ready, the look in his eyes regarding Maxwell as a legitimate opponent. She really hoped Tony wasn't watching this somewhere else.  
  
Maxwell bounced on the balls of his feet and swung his arms, stretching his shoulders. "Up for seeing if we can even that up a little better?"  
  
"If you're okay with kissing the mat some more."  
  
"Fighting words there, tin man."  
  
"Says the flying monkey."  
  
Maxwell grinned, then glanced up at Barton. "Tro, can we keep him?"  
  
"People aren't pets."  
  
"That is rich coming from you."  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Judging from the banked amusement in Barton's eyes, he knew exactly what Maxwell was talking about.   
  
Maxwell narrowed his eyes, but his lips twitched with a suppressed grin. "Clown."  
  
"Thief."  
  
Natasha saw the moment that Barnes started to relax, and Maxwell must have been watching for it because he moved and nearly got a punch through Barnes's guard. When he backed away again, he was grinning.   
  
"You're good," he said, and Natasha knew that look. It was the same look Tony got when someone had drawn a line in the sand or told him something was impossible and he couldn't wait to prove them wrong.   
  
"I put you on your ass three times, and now you admit I'm good?" Barnes asked, a little disbelieving.   
  
Maxwell shifted his stance, and the hair began to raise on Natasha's arms again.   
  
"Duo," Barton's voice cut through the room like a whip. The hair-raising feel was gone as fast as it had come, and Maxwell looked up at him, a little annoyed. "Stitches," he reminded, but something in his posture or the blankness of his face made Maxwell pull up short.   
  
He straightened, all obvious readiness dropping from him like a coat, and sighed. "We've been down here, for what, half an hour?"  
  
"Stitches," was Barton's only response, and the reminder made Natasha realize that since Maxwell had pinned Barnes, he hadn't moved as if he were injured at all.   
  
The adrenaline must have been wearing off because Maxwell lifted the edge of his shirt, and when he saw some blood on the bandage, he hissed. Funny how it always hurt worse once you'd seen it.   
  
"Right," he grumbled.   
  
Barton jumped off the railing and landed easily on the mat ten feet below. Natasha followed, though she rolled before popping up.  
  
“I meant it about Quatre resewing these,” Barton warned.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” he complained. He was holding his side, hair a mess, a little sweaty, but he seemed… centered. “Can I just do it and you say Quat did?”  
  
“Take your punishment like a man, Maxwell.”  
  
Maxwell laughed, then held his side. “Oh, fuck, don’t make me laugh.”  
  
“I could also tell Sally you were sparring the day after you got shot.”  
  
“You do, and I’ll tell her you _let_ me.”  
  
“How about _I_ sew him back up and we don’t tell Tony?” Natasha suggested. “No offense, but if he finds out you busted stitches while sparring with Barnes, he might lose his mind a little.”  
  
“Why?” Maxwell looked genuinely perplexed. Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Maxwell got there. “The whole killed his parents thing?” he asked as if it were unimportant. But then, considering what little she knew about his past, she could see why he was so detached from the idea that Howard and Maria had in any way belonged to him.  
  
“Yes,” Natasha replied shortly. “Barnes being around you makes Tony nervous—No offense,” she added to Barnes.  
  
Barnes ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. “None taken.”  
  
“So if you could avoid further injuring yourself or ever sparring with Barnes while Tony’s around, that’d be great.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, unimpressed, but he didn’t argue, so she’d take it as a win.  
  
“You should let Quatre stitch him up,” Barton told Natasha.  
  
“Another time? When he does something else stupid to pull them that doesn’t include Barnes.”  
  
“Hey! I resemble that remark! Why do you assume I’m going to pull them again?”  
  
“Because you will,” Natasha said in perfect unison with Barton. Their eyes met, and she saw amusement and affection dancing in forest green eyes.  
  
“No faith in me at all.”  
  
“None,” Barton agreed, looking away, but his eyes, when they landed on Maxwell were still warm. “I know you too well.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Are you sure that isn’t an invitation?”  
  
Maxwell laughed again, then groaned. “Stop making me laugh.”  
  
“Let’s get that side looked at. We’ve got a good first aid kit in here,” Natasha said, leading the way.  
  
“Buncha fucking sadists,” Maxwell muttered.  
  
“You keep putting yourself in our power. What does that say about you?” Barton asked, still in that deceptively even voice, and Natasha was glad she wasn’t facing them because it would ruin her reputation if she started giggling.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed something a little fluffier. Also, pkoceres gifted me some astonishingly awesome art of [ Duo and Jesus](https://pkoceres.tumblr.com/post/634323548789489664/completed-art-for-ashes-and-smoke-by), showing off some of Duo's tattoos. It is BEAUTIFUL. Go give her some love. Just a tiny bit on the NSFW side (lots of skin), but her TATTOOS. And JESUS. *swoon* Give her love.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a simple question, Rogers. Why did you aim for his chest?”

The door to the stairway opened, and Maxwell, his Barton, Natasha, and Bucky came out. Maxwell seemed different, somehow. Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he thought for the first time, Maxwell might truly be relaxed.

“Where’re Quat and Stark?” Maxwell asked, only finding Steve in the kitchen.

“Mr. Winner said he was going to go take a shower. Tony’s down in his workshop,” he said, asking Natasha and Bucky a silent question. Bucky looked unusually relaxed as well, and even Natasha seemed to be in a good mood.

Maxwell went to the cabinet and pulled out several cups, then went to the fridge to fill them one after the other. “Cool,” he said.

“Do you have to go to the precinct today?” Steve wondered, realizing that it was the first day Maxwell had been at the Tower past 8:30 a.m.

“I have to go down this afternoon to give my statement. I had a message from Anderson,” he explained. “And probably be there fucking late.” He passed the glasses around, first to Bucky, who downed it gratefully.

The elevator opened and Winner stepped off. He was dressed in what Steve suspected was his idea of being “dressed down,” in khakis and a polo. He put his hand over his heart, then smiled wide and warm at his friends.

“You seem to be feeling much better,” he said to Maxwell.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m in one piece, I think.” Steve didn’t think he meant just physically.

“Did you get enough to eat this morning?” Steve asked, figuring if he was going to interrupt them, at least he could be polite.

“I made sure he ate while he was cooking,” Barton said, and Steve twitched. He kept losing track of the man, which was unnerving. Not many people slipped his attention. At least when Natasha did it, he could tell himself at least she was a lot smaller than him and a literal spy, but Barton was at least 6’6”. Men that tall were  _ noticed _ , not forgotten.

“Now what was this I heard about you leaving?” Winner asked.

“Duty calls,” Maxwell said, resigned. “I have to go give my statement about yesterday.” He paused and blinked. “Yeah, yesterday.”

“Who is running the investigation?” Steve asked.

Maxwell shrugged. “Probably Preventers, both because Une told me Hydra’s, uh, sphere-wide influence makes them Preventers’ problem, and because, you know, they targeted a Preventer agent, so, it’s probably Preventers running point.” He thought about it for a moment, then winced. “So… expect me to be late?”

“Tony got the tip about you being attacked from Nick Fury,” Steve said. “I know SHIELD doesn’t officially exist anymore, and Fury may not have any official position, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s there when you give your statement.”

“Care to tell me why you felt it necessary to warn me?” Maxwell asked, then took another drink of his water.

Steve searched for the words, for the reason. He would have warned Tony, if Tony wouldn’t have already expected it. Maxwell didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture, though.

“In Tony’s words, Fury is  _ the  _ spy,” Natasha offered, seeing Steve floundering. “His secrets have secrets, and there’s not much that gets past him.”

Maxwell exchanged looks with Winner and Barton, skeptical. Winner shrugged. “He knows that I was the target, right?”

“But you’re also Tony Stark’s son,” Natasha said. “He won’t like the unknown variable. He probably wants to know how much you’re like Tony and—”

“He wants to know my monkey-wrench potential,” he interrupted, looking bored. “Is this going to be a thing? People assuming that because we share approximately half a gene sequence that I’m going to fuck their shit up by my very existence?”

Barton coughed, and though his face stayed blank, his eyes glittered in amusement. Judging by the way Maxwell narrowed his eyes at his friend, he saw it too.

“Not a word from you.”

“To be  _ fair _ , Duo…” Winner began.

“Not you too!”

“Heero actually tried to calculate it during the war,” Barton said. “The ‘Maxwell Boredom to Chaos Coefficient,’ he called it.”

“Bull. Shit,” Maxwell said, and the flat look said he was not amused.

“Okay, it was Sally, and she’s not nearly as good at the math, but after trying to keep you in the hospital the second time, she thought naming the phenomenon appropriate.”

Maxwell blinked. “That I would believe.”

“Not a good patient?” Bucky asked.

“The  _ worst _ ,” Winner said in far too cheery a tone.

“I am  _ not _ the worst.”

“You literally just finished sparring with a supersoldier the day after you were shot—”

“ _ Grazed _ .”

“ _ Shot _ ,” Barton continued undeterred. “and you complain you aren’t the worst.”

“One word— _ femur _ ,” Maxwell countered. “I literally still have nightmares over that. I don’t want to hear it.”

Steve exchanged looks with Bucky and Natasha, but they looked just as lost as he did.

“He got better. You have, arguably, gotten worse.”

“Don’t look at me,” Winner said, hands raised. “I listen to my doctors.”

Rolling his eyes, Maxwell said, “Of course you do.”

“Do I want to ask how many stitches you busted?” Steve interjected.

“Just two,” Natasha said. “I was impressed. Tony probably would have done worse.”

Something passed behind Maxwell’s eyes. “Hey, I gotta question for you. Not sure if you know, but Stark told me about the arc reactor that used to be in his chest,” he began. “He’s got a set of armor that had the chest plate had to be replaced on. Do you know what happened to it?”

It felt like watching a car crash in slow motion. Steve couldn’t stop his flinch, and Bucky, who had been so at ease, so much like his old self, looked away, ashamed. Maxwell’s keen eyes saw them both and Tony’s son had no trouble putting the pieces together.

“ _ You _ did it?” It was less a question than a denial. If Steve had ever doubted for a second that Maxwell was truly Tony’s flesh and blood, watching his eyes as he worked to make sense of the problem dispelled them permanently. “Your fucking ‘Civil War,’” he said, and it was low and angry. His voice seemed to crawl under Steve’s skin.

“I had to protect Bucky,” Steve said, knowing it was useless to lie to this man about it. And he was a man. No matter how small and how young, those eyes were old and hard.

Maxwell let out several slow, deep breaths, but he kept inhaling sharply, hands clenched so tightly, the knuckles were white, he asked, “Why the chest?”

“What?”

“It’s a simple question, Rogers. Why did you aim for his chest?”

“I needed him to stop. I just wanted to make the suit stop—going at the arc reactor was the best way.”

Maxwell’s hands opened like grasping claws before he dug them into his hair and he curled into himself. “Do you know how compromised his rib cage is?” he asked, so low that Steve doubted Natasha could hear the question.

But Steve didn’t understand it. “What do you mean?”

When Maxwell looked back up, Steve had to stop himself from taking a step back. He didn’t have to wonder anymore how this man had married a monster. Now he understood why a Hydra agent might beg to get away from him. The barely restrained rage in his eyes promised pain and blood if he didn’t get his answers. “The arc reactor was in Stark’s sternum,” he said, slowly, carefully, like if he spoke any faster, he was going to scream. Every muscle was coiled and tense. “It compromised his entire rib structure. As good as his doctors are, and he’s  _ Tony Stark _ , so I’m sure they’re the  _ best _ , they didn’t replace his entire rib cage when they took it out, so his ribs and  _ everything they protect _ are compromised. One really good, unprotected blow to his sternum will almost certainly kill him.”

“No,” Steve protested, his bones aching with cold, head spinning with horror. “I never—I would have never… I just wanted him to stop. I just… He was trying to kill Bucky. I just…”

“He was trying to protect me,” Bucky said, stepping in front of him, making himself the target of those raging eyes. “Stark just found out that I killed his parents, and he…” Bucky paused, looking for the words. “He wanted to hurt me like he was hurting.”

Maxwell put his head in his hands and laughed, a mirthless, mocking sound, and it raised the hairs all over Steve’s body. Steve had heard evil men laugh, and this wasn’t that. It wasn’t insane or sadistic, but it was dark, and it made his heart race. When it trailed off, Maxwell inhaled, deep and loud in the unnatural quiet of the room. He looked back up and his eyes locked on Steve. “Stark is a much better man than me to forgive you that,” he said, and there was a thread of condescension in his voice, as if he thought Tony a fool for it.

He jumped down from the counter, landing on eerily silent feet, and the move was unexpected enough to make him, Bucky, and Natasha fall back into defensive stances. Maxwell stood loose, the barely-contained energy of before gone, but still Steve’s adrenaline rushed, his instincts telling him he was in very real danger.

“Duo,” Winner said, and his voice brought his earlier words to mind:  _ Duo Maxwell is not an enemy you want. _ Steve hadn’t believed it when he first heard it, not really. He believed it now.

Maxwell’s eyes flicked to him, but his body language said he was still focused on them.

“ _ Duo _ .” Winner put a strange emphasis on Maxwell’s name. “This isn’t your call to make.” It may have been phrased as a suggestion, but it rang with the weight of a command.

Maxwell’s eyes flicked to him again, this time he sneered, then sighed. When his eyes swung back to Steve, the threat was gone, but the rage wasn’t. “You’re right,” he said to Winner, despite still holding Steve with his gaze. “Stark isn’t mine to protect, and he wouldn’t thank me if I did.” When he turned away this time, it was a dismissal. “Which reminds me, I thought you might want to take a swing at the Accords, if you have time,” he said to Winner.

“I can take a look at them while you go give your statement,” Winner said, and the authority that had called Maxwell back was gone as if it had never been. “You might want to go sooner than later, if you think you’re going to be a while,” he suggested.

“Sure, Quat,” Maxwell agreed, sounding more like the man Steve had first met, though the warmer, more open man who made breakfast was nowhere to be found. Maxwell looked at Barton. Though they didn’t speak, understanding passed between them, and Barton nodded his head, just one slow acknowledgment that might have been missed had Steve not been watching so closely.

He didn’t look back as he went to the stairwell door. Steve didn’t realize he hadn’t made a sound aside from speaking until the door slammed automatically, its closing mechanism as loud as a gunshot in the room. Only after the door shut did he begin to feel warm again.

* * *

Winner and Barton met one another’s eyes.

“I think we’ll go ask Mr. Stark for that copy of the Accords,” Winner said, pleasant, as if nothing abnormal had just happened. It was borderline Stepford Wife perfect, and if Natasha thought that Winner’s manners might be a mask before, now she was certain. Maxwell had backed down because Winner had commanded him, not because he thought better of it. She had heard that Winner could be a cold son-of-a-bitch in business negotiations, but this was different. There was something else going on here, something that made her paranoia scream.

Barton followed Winner without a word, and they disappeared down the stairs, and she mentally filed them away for another time. She had something more immediate to address. Judging by the way Steve straightened to attention when she met his eyes, he knew what was coming.

“Tell me you did not do what I think you did,” she said.

“I don’t—”

God, she hated it when he did this. “Tell me you didn’t use the shield.” He lifted his chin and stared straight ahead. “Of course you did,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“He was trying to—”

“I don’t care about the reason, Rogers,” she snapped, and he shifted slightly backward as if she’d slapped him. “You hid what happened to his parents for  _ two years _ . I understand how that happened, even if I think you were an idiot to keep it from him for that long. But when it blew up in your face at the worst possible time, you took the shield, the symbol of everything you and his father built, and used it to break the arc reactor that a year before was keeping him alive.”

It somehow was worse hearing it aloud than thinking it in her head. Given Steve and Barnes’s flinches, they agreed.

“I never—”

“You know that Wanda and Clint and Sam all think the fight was Tony’s fault, right? That he was the one out of line?”

“He—”

“Oh, he’s no saint, Steve, but that fight took two, and you were certainly not as innocent in it as they would believe.” She shook her head, still trying to wrap her head around it. “You really could have killed him,” she said, because it needed to be said. The thought of Tony dying, dying at  _ Steve’s _ hand, made her chest tight and her throat close. She thought of Tony alone in the snow of Siberia with a barely functional suit, tried to imagine a world where there was no longer an arrogant, narcissistic, haunted, brilliant, and shockingly kind Tony Stark, and had to take a shallow breath.

“I just wanted to make him stop,” Steve said, but it sounded like he didn’t believe it either.

“You certainly did that,” she said, and somehow her voice was even and clear. “It is a God-damn miracle he bothered to do anything for any of us after what happened to Colonel Rhodes, but after  _ that _ ?”

“I didn’t know about his chest,” he tried again.

“But you knew about the arc reactor, so you  _ should _ have realized that it compromised his chest. I know Tony walks around like he’s invincible, but I knew how dangerous the arc reactor was. You should have known. You should have thought about your  _ friend _ and not just the character he plays to keep the world at arm’s length.”

“I told him I was sorry.”

“Did you now?” She folded her arms and waited.

“I… sent a note.”

Yeah, that sounded about right. “I think the very  _ least _ of what you owe Tony is an unqualified apology, especially because after  _ everything _ you did, he’s helping Barnes.”

“I know—”

“I don’t know that you do,” she interrupted, the mental image of Tony dead in Siberia playing on a loop behind her eyes. “Let me tell you something I know, that you don’t. I know that you and Tony are both  _ good _ men. At the core of who you are, you are both good, and you care so much. I will also tell you that you had better find a way to make this, if not right, then better. Because if you don’t, and Maxwell decides that Tony is  _ his _ to protect....”

That shook Steve out of his self-pity enough to look disbelieving, but to his credit, he didn’t dismiss the insinuation out of hand. “It won’t come to that,” he said, the iron certainty she expected from him back in place. 

“Make sure it doesn’t. Because if you end up at odds with Maxwell, he will kill you, and I don’t want to think about what that would do to Tony.”

“You really think he could kill me?” Steve asked and his voice said he was incredulous, but something in his eyes betrayed him.

“He’s Tony’s son. You’d hold back. He wouldn’t,” she said simply, then turned on her heel, heading for the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked, almost nervous, following her and holding the door.

“I think it’s time someone in this Tower who actually cares about Tony started acting like it, don’t you?”

He let go of the door as if he’d been burned, and Natasha wished she got any satisfaction out of the reaction.

* * *

Winner had been distracted since he came down, and it was distracting Tony. He had offered to take the Accords copy and to leave, but Tony hadn’t had a good night and he kind of missed having someone just hanging around his workshop like Steve—

Anyway, Tall Barton had pulled out a phone and simply chilled against a wall like that was the most comfortable place in the workshop, and Winner had settled into the corner of the couch. He’d barely begun to read before he reached up to rub at his chest over his heart. He went back to trying to read, but he was obviously distracted. Tall Barton noticed too, because he reached over to knead the back of Winner’s neck.

“You okay?” Tony finally asked, the particular motion of rubbing at his chest hitting a little too close to home for Tony.

Winner smiled, and Tony did not trust that smile, but Duo definitely trusted Winner, so Tony was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. “It’s probably just some heartburn,” he assured. “We can leave if we’re distracting you,” he offered again.

“No, I’d like to hear your thoughts, actually. I think I’ve heard every single argument my lawyers have made, and I’ve heard—well, I’ve heard every counter to them. I’m curious for a new set of eyes—especially colonial ones.”

“Yes, but I can make notes and give them to you.”

“I prefer dialogue.”

He smiled, and this one looked more sincere. “Prefer to talk through your thoughts?” The affection in the observation told him it was a habit of Duo’s, which, okay, yeah, he liked Winner finding reflections of Duo in Tony.

“Not always,” Tony disagreed.

“Sometimes the words can’t keep up?”

And yeah, that maybe made Tony’s heart warm a little, because that was totally Winner telling him it was something Duo did. Something they shared. “Sometimes.”

Winner seemed to settle in, but just as Tony was getting into recalibrating the protection behind the arc reactor, FRIDAY said, “Miss Romanov requests entry.”

He sighed and sat up. “Might as well let her in.”

She came in wearing her most blank mask, which made him nervous right away because that never boded well for him.

“Would you like us to leave, Miss Romanov?” Winner asked, the epitome of discretion and manners.

He saw a flicker of surprise at their presence, and filed it away as interesting. She expected to find him alone.

“No, it’s good,” he said before Natasha could voice her opinion. “You can stay.”

Winner looked up at Tall Barton, who shrugged subtly, but he eased back into the seat. Natasha looked like she’d rather they were alone, but that was too bad. Someone other than him should be disappointed on occasion.

She hesitated, and that made Tony stare because Natasha didn’t hesitate. He could see her make the decision, and she straightened. “I wanted to come and apologize,” she said.

Whatever Tony had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Apology accepted—what exactly, are you apologizing for?”

She sighed, but the blank mask had fallen when she apologized and now she looked at him with both exasperation and—dare he suggest it—even a little affection? “A lot of things, mostly for being a bad friend.”

“I could not have heard that right. Do you mind repeating—”

“I haven’t been a good friend, and I’m sorry,” she repeated deliberately.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the apology, and I’m not rescinding your apology acceptance, but why now? Why the sudden need?”

“Just… a new understanding of events,” she said. “I knew about Barnes too, and I should have told you, even if I thought it wasn’t my place. When I realized Steve wasn’t going to, I should have.”

He looked at her, somehow surprised to see that she seemed genuinely apologetic. But then, this was Natasha. She only showed what she wanted you to see. He could take her apology at face value or he could reject it, reject her.

Tony was so tired of all the tension, of being at odds with everyone. He ached for the days when they lived in the Tower together like a family. He could reject her, but where would that leave him? Alone? Again? Maybe she was manipulating him, but he didn’t have the energy to try and figure out her games anymore.

So, face value it was, then. “It probably would have gone down the same way.”

“Would you and Steve have still disagreed about the Accords? Probably. But you would have helped him find Barnes. You would have helped him find a way to make things right.”

“You can’t know that,” he told her, remembering how hurt and angry he’d been when he realized what Steve knew.

“I can,” she said. “Because even after what he did, you brought him back. You brought us all back. And you’re helping Barnes.”

“I just don’t like sharing,” he quipped.

“No, you don’t,” she agreed, voice soft, and that was worse than if she were yelling at him. “But you share your home with us, even after all we’ve done, no matter how ungrateful some of us are.”

“I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be. You deserve better. Even if no one else does, I’m going to do better. I promise.”

“It took us both to break it,” he felt the need to remind her.

“And it’ll take us all to put it back together,” she said. “But I think it’s worth doing.”

So did Tony. He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. Natasha knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Turkey Day for those who celebrated! I hope everyone stayed safe! 
> 
> Also--if you've made it this far and haven't seen, I have posted a spoiler for [if Stand will be 1x2 ](https://angelselene.tumblr.com/post/635503158894952448/will-stand-without-flinching-be-1x2) on my Tumblr for those of you who _have_ to know, and I'm sorry it took me this long to figure out a simple solution to spoil those who want to be spoiled. The reason I haven't answered the question before is because _it's complicated_ , so if you want the spoiler, now you have it. 
> 
> I'm so grateful for my lovely readers. I definitely don't take ya'll for granted and hope you enjoy!!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And Stark and Rogers aren’t exactly great terms right now, so why are you, Team Rogers, tailing me, ostensibly Team Stark?”

Duo had a few hours before he’d be expected to make his statement, so he wandered New York’s streets. He should contemplate lunch or something, but Shini still danced too close to the surface to even think about eating. He had just killed a few days ago—Shinigami should be sated, at least for a while. Yet hearing about Rogers attacking his teammate made him reach for Shini on autopilot.

Even thinking about it made that primal pulse pound under his skin. It was time to admit to himself that something had changed. Those months of riding Shinigami for hours or even days without break had changed something. It had been easy to overlook with Jesus. Even though he hadn’t killed often at Jesus’s side, there’d been plenty of reason for Shini to be close to the surface. The past six weeks had been different. There wasn’t a good reason for Shini to be this close, this aware.

Rogers had been an asshole, no doubt about that. Duo didn’t understand why Stark was willing to bring the man back into his home. He didn’t need to understand though. Stark was a big boy. If he wasn’t as paranoid or unforgiving as Duo could be, that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. Duo understood fighting to hurt each other, but Rogers’s obliviousness was dangerous. Duo wouldn’t trust the man at his back, Captain America or no. But really, as much as what he’d done pissed Duo off and made him distrust the man, the damage was done, and he had no place to hold a grudge where Stark wasn’t.

Well, Stark hadn’t wholly forgiven Rogers. They still had a weird tension going on between them that said they were trying, but those wounds hadn’t healed. But protecting wounds wasn’t the same as holding a grudge.

He tried to think of something that could split the pilots as deeply as the Accords had split the Avengers. The closest they’d come was Wufei joining Mariemaia, but he’d been young and hurt and hadn’t let the other pilots in then the way he had since. They might all be different people, and they might have different ideas, but he honestly believed they’d be able to find some middle ground without things coming apart so badly they were trying to kill each other. He didn’t want to imagine a scenario that would have him on the other side of such a deep divide. He would have thought the sort of battles the Avengers went through together would forge the same kind of bonds that the Eve Wars had forged for the Gundam pilots, but maybe not. There had been good portions of the war where it had been the five of them against the world, hanging on to their beliefs in the face of overwhelming opposition and betrayal.

Maybe their age played a role too. If they had been adults, grounded in who they were, not still growing and changing, would they have come together the way they had? Would they have built the bonds they had?

This was exactly the kind of headspace that he’d love a good fuck to get out of. Nothing silenced Shini like sex. He threw himself onto a park bench and leaned his head back, staring at the sky.

“This seat taken?” a voice asked.

Duo sighed. “I wondered when you were going to stop lurking,” he said, turning to look at the man next to him as Sam Wilson sat down.

“I do not lurk, man,” he informed. 

“I wouldn’t call what you do tailing, because you suck at it,” he said, not joking. He wanted to believe that being tailed had made Shini restless, but Wilson was so bad at it, even Shini wouldn’t have been bothered. “Why you?”

Wilson looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I’m assuming someone decided I shouldn’t be wandering alone, but why are you my shadow? You’re like… Rogers’s girlfriend.”

“Excuse you,” Wilson said, offended. “Steve and I are not like that.”

The emphatic denial tickled Duo’s sense of humor, and it was a relief to use it to quiet Shini. “You know I married a dude, right? Would be super hypocritical for me to judge.”

Wilson looked so intensely uncomfortable, Duo couldn’t contain his grin. Wilson gave him a mock dirty glare. “So glad I could amuse you,” he said, irritated.

“I know,” Duo admitted, letting him off the hook. “But you seem pretty buddy-buddy.”

“Steve’s the reason I’m an Avenger,” Wilson said as if it explained everything. Maybe it did.

“And Stark and Rogers aren’t exactly great terms right now, so why are  _ you _ , Team Rogers, tailing me, ostensibly Team Stark?”

“We’re all trying to be Team Avengers right now, so what’s Stark’s is all of ours,” Wilson said, and Duo appreciated the candor. “I’m pretty much the least recognizable out of all of us, so you got me if we’re trying not to draw attention to you.”

“So you were voluntold.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“This may surprise you, but I do, in fact, know how to get around without drawing attention.”

“Yeah, well, you may find that harder once who you are gets out.”

“Don’t remind me,” Duo groused, leaning his head back again.

He could feel Wilson studying him but ignored it. “You don’t really know much about the Avengers, do you?” he asked.

“Broad strokes, mostly. Battle of New York, Hulk, uh, I guess there was the Mandarin thing? Obviously we felt the Triskelion and SHIELD falling, so I kind of know more about that shit. I mean, of course I know who Stark and Banner are. I hate to tell you, but the Avengers and what they’re doing are not the center of everyone’s worlds.”

“I’d think we’re of interest to Preventers.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been mostly incommunicado for over two years. Whatever arrangements you’ve been making with Une since SHIELD went down don’t involve me.” He frowned. “Well, they didn’t involve me.” Except Sokovia, but he wasn’t sharing that. Given the way it looked like Avengers would end up coordinating with Preventers, they probably would have run into each other sooner or later, and honestly, Duo preferred to make his own opinions of people. Besides, he was a Gundam pilot. Superheroes were kind of cool in theory, but call him biased—he thought the pilots were the original superheroes. The difference was, they didn’t need to be recognized for what they did.

“You know, there are plenty of people who idolize us, and there are plenty who just hate us. I don’t run into indifference much.”

Duo snorted. “You do some insane shit, even by my standards,” he admitted. “But unless and until I need to get involved, honestly, I kind of think about it like another law enforcement branch. You do your stuff, I do mine.” He slid his eyes over. “Of course, your collateral tends to be… concerning. And this is coming from someone who fought on the same side as the Gundams, for the record.”

“I seem to remember the Gundams taking out two whole colonies,” Wilson said pointedly.

Technically, it was one, since L5 self-destructed, but that wasn’t common knowledge and he had no good excuse for knowing it. “Sokovia would have been as bad if the Gundams hadn’t been there,” he said, because it was true and they hadn’t even been fighting a war, but something they’d inadvertently created. “But comparing fuck-ups doesn’t make anyone’s better or worse. They’re all bad,” he conceded.

Wilson had been cowed somewhat by the mention of Sokovia, but Duo seemed to have said too much because his gaze sharpened. “Did you know the Gundam pilots?” he asked.

Duo gave him his best sheepish, shy look. “You really think someone like me got to know the Gundam pilots?” He aimed for that quietly awed tone he’d heard some colonists use when speaking of them. From the look on Wilson’s face, he nailed it. “They didn’t mingle with the rank and file much, and didn’t usually stop anywhere longer than it was necessary to resupply.”

“Damn. I know that Stark has been dying to find out who they are,” Wilson said, getting more comfortable.

“Really?” Duo asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I think he wanted to thank them for their help in Sokovia.”

“Huh.” Duo didn’t know what to do with that information, except that it made him nervous that Stark was actively trying to figure out who they were. “Sorry I’m not much help.” Not  _ very _ sorry, but Wilson did seem bothered.

“They’re not Preventers?” Wilson wondered.

Every now and then, dealing with smart people was really a pain. “If they are, no one’s telling,” he said. There really weren’t a lot of Preventers who knew the pilots had anything to do with Preventers who didn’t also know the pilots personally.

“So, did you have any plans?” Wilson asked. “You know, before you stormed out of the Tower hours early?”

“Way to make me sound like I’m five.”

“From where I’m sitting, you might as well be.”

“It’s not the years, kid—it’s the miles,” Duo quipped.

“You did not just call  _ me _ a kid.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure that if we get attacked, it’s gonna be me saving your ass, not the other way around.”

“You really think so? Didn’t you just get shot?”

Duo shrugged. “I was also sparring with one of your supersoldiers this morning, so again, tell me who is gonna save who?”

“That makes you crazy,” Wilson said, and he sounded serious.

Duo laughed. “Aren’t we all?” he asked.

Wilson smiled and shook his head. “Guess we are.” He looked at Duo oddly, then said, “I feel like we were never formally introduced. I’m Sam Wilson, the Falcon.” He held out his hand.

The offer seemed sincere, so Duo took his hand. “Duo Reyes-Maxwell, call sign Darkside.”

Wilson’s brows rose as he sat back. “Darkside? You?”

“Books and covers, Wilson,” Duo warned.

“Sam.”

Duo met his eyes and smiled. “Sam.”

* * *

“You’re not seriously coming with me for this, are you?” Duo asked Sam as they paused outside the precinct.

“You are aware that paranoia is virtually a requirement for Avengers, right?”

Duo rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be in a literal police station. If I need your help there, we have other problems.”

“I dunno…”

“Go the hell home or wherever you want. There’s no reason for you to hang around here for hours.”

“Maybe not, but if something happens to you, Stark is going to kill me.”

“If something comes for me, I can handle it. The whole reason I’m here today is because I killed three Hydra agents, remember. The only thing you would do is get in my way.”

“You did get shot.”

“As everyone is so fond of reminding me. Not the first time I’ve been shot or hurt and had to defend myself.”

Sam gave him a hard, suspicious look. “Give me your phone.”

Duo didn’t move to comply. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to put my number in it and you are going to call me so you’re not coming back to the Tower by yourself.”

He rolled his eyes again, but unlocked the phone and handed it over. He heard Sam’s phone buzz a minute later as he texted himself.

“Happy now?” Duo asked.

“For now. You  _ will _ call so you’re not coming back to the Tower alone.”

“It’s probably going to be late,” Duo warned.

“That’s fine. Plenty of insomniacs to go around.”

Duo sighed. “If I say yes, will you go?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Sam teased.

“Get out of here, Wilson,” Duo said, having no intention of calling him. He waited until Sam had walked away then made his way into the station. He went straight to the desk and asked for Averson, though he was surprised to see one of his ex-partners, Reynard, come to get him.

“Darkside,” Reynard greeted, cold but polite. He hadn’t been a bad partner, but they hadn’t exactly parted on the best terms either. 

“Reynard,” Duo acknowledged. “Didn’t know you’d transferred to the New York office.”

“After my leave of absence, I needed a change of scenery.”

Duo nodded. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, following Reynard deeper into the station. They ended up in Averson’s office. Duo recognized Nick Fury in the corner behind Averson and did his best not to sigh or roll his eyes. “Well, this seems a bit overkill.” It didn’t escape his attention that everyone was standing and showed no signs of sitting.

“This is a statement, not an interrogation,” Reynard said, motioning to a chair. It had its back to the door, so he really didn’t want to sit in it, rather straddling the arm.

“Sure it is,” Duo had to quip, just because he couldn’t resist pulling Reynard’s chain.

Reynard glanced up at him. “I know why you were taken out of the field, Darkside. Don’t get snarky with me.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Duo said. “But ask your questions. I’m sure the officers here have more about another issue once you’re done with me.”

“What exactly did you do to the Hydra agent you spared?” Fury asked without introducing himself.

“Mind if I ask who you are and why you’re here?” Duo countered. Just because he knew didn’t mean they should assume he did. 

“Nick Fury.”

“Former head of SHIELD?” Duo asked, playing dumb just to see what he would do.

“Yes,” Fury said, the word clipped. So SHIELD was still a button for him. Not surprising, really.

“Thought I heard you died.”

“A necessary deception,” he said in that kind of tone that said he was trying to be patient.

Duo smirked. “I really thought you’d say ‘rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.’”

Fury didn’t look amused. “We need to understand what happened with the Hydra agents.”

“You didn’t explain why you were here, ex-director,” Duo said, giving him a sweet smile.

Fury rolled his visible eye. “You are definitely Stark’s son.” 

“Still not an answer,” Duo said. Reynard didn’t startle, so he must have been told. 

“Mr. Fury was invited due to his familiarity with Hydra,” Reynard said, to his credit, he sounded annoyed with them both.

If he got to pull Reynard’s chain this much, maybe this wouldn’t be unbearable. He wasn’t a bad agent, but he was uptight in that way that Duo could never resist messing with. And getting under Fury’s skin seemed like it’d be fun too.

Fury slapped his hands on Averson’s desk, but if he expected Duo to jump, he was disappointed. Duo could have counted down to that tactic. “I need to know what you did to the Hydra agent you didn’t kill.”

“Aside from removing his suicide tooth, I didn’t do anything to him,” Duo insisted, and it was true.

“Then why is it for every two questions he answers—and answers very thoroughly, mind you—he checks to make sure you won’t come back?” Fury demanded. “And how did you even manage to cut out part of the man’s  _ jaw _ ?”

There was no way in hell he was telling Nick Fury that the man had seen Shinigami and freaked out. “With a very sharp knife,” he said as if Fury were particularly dense.

“Do you think this is a joke?” Fury asked. “You killed four men—”

“Three, actually,” Duo interrupted. “The fourth one suicided, which is  _ why _ I removed the suicide tooth from the survivor, or you’d have five dead mean and no answers.”

“Does it bother you at all that you killed three men?” Fury asked, leaning into his space.

“Reynard.” Duo held Fury’s gaze but shot the question over his shoulder. “Do you think killing three men who were trying to kill me keeps me up at night?” he asked. Shini stirred but he hushed it. There was no threat here. Fury was grandstanding.

Reynard—whose last mission with him had seen over a dozen terrorists dead at his Duo’s hand—snorted. “They weren’t trying to kill you,” he said rather than answering the question, and Duo was surprised enough to look away from Fury and at Reynard. “They were trying to kidnap you until you killed the first two.”

“Oh,” Duo said, because, well, he just assumed they were out to kill him. “So they don’t know a damn thing about me, huh?”

“They know you were a Preventer, and they know you’re Tony Stark’s son,” Reynard confirmed.

“Wow, that was a rude wake up then.”

“Quite,” Reynard agreed.

“What did you do to that Hydra agent?” Fury asked again.

“You are like a starving dog with his bone, has anyone ever told you that?” Duo asked, turning his attention back to him.

“Not in those exact words, but close enough. Now answer the damn question.”

“I don’t have a good answer for you. He saw me, freaked the hell out, tripped, hit his head on the counter and knocked himself out cold. I dealt with the other three, and the fourth, when he saw me coming, suicided. Once I saw that, I went back to the first one and found the suicide tooth, then removed it, including part of the jaw.” He explained. “He didn’t even wake up while I did it.” Which was less surprising if you knew Duo was using a supersharp gundanium blade that slid through bone like a hot knife through butter. “I tied him up and put the tooth in a plastic bag. He woke up a minute or two later and started panicking immediately. I was trying to get him to stop blubbering when Stark showed up.”

Fury leaned back against Averson’s desk, looking skeptical. “See, I have some problems with that story.” He folded his arms across his chest, and if he meant to be intimidating, he was definitely overestimating his innate menace. Or maybe Duo’s bar for scary people was just way above average. “See that Hydra agent, he’s not just any expendable flunky. He’s an experienced, hardened veteran. From where I’m sitting, I just don’t see anything that scary about you.”

Duo shrugged, because, really, what did Fury expect him to say? He had never explained Shini to even the other pilots. They were aware of it from seeing it in action, but he’d never even fully explained it to Heero. He sure as hell wasn’t going to try to explain it to Fury, though, with Fury’s exposure to the supernatural, he might be more open than most to believing him.

Wasn’t worth the risk though.

He took a different tact. “Reynard, am I scary?” he asked, looking over Fury’s shoulder, and Shini liked the shadow of fear that raced through Reynard’s eyes. Reynard has seen Shinigami in all its fury in that mission. He’d been frightened and rightly so. Not many people saw Shini like that and survived to testify to it.

Reynard sighed like he was irritated, and it would have been a good show if Duo hadn’t seen that specter in his eyes.

“This line of questioning is obviously a dead end, Mr. Fury,” Reynard said. Fury’s head whipped around to stare at him. “Let’s just say that just because Darkside looks small and harmless right now doesn’t mean that I don’t understand why the agent is scared.”

“It’s more than being scared,” Fury countered, as if he couldn’t believe Reynard was backing Duo. “That man is absolutely terrified. He is broken, Agent Reynard. Forgive me if I am having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that this young man did nothing more than look at him to do that.” He gave Duo a hard glare, and Duo just raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the knife? The one you cut out the tooth with? Because I don’t know of any kitchen knives that cut through bone that cleanly.”

“It’s one of my personal knives, and before you ask, you’re not getting it. It’s irreplaceable, and I’ll never get it back. I’ll tell you what I told the detective—you can have it when you pry it from my cold dead body.”

Fury stood up and his coat flared dramatically as he spun on his heel. Duo wasn’t impressed, but he was very aware that Fury had no real power here. Maybe someone less informed would be nervous about Fury’s presence, but Duo knew that with SHIELD gone, he was effectively neutered. Duo had also killed a  _ lot _ of people with his knives and never had them confiscated. They weren’t guns; it wasn’t how this worked.

“Give it up, Mr. Fury,” Reynard said, and this time, he did sound tired. “He’s not someone you can bully like you’re used to. We don’t confiscate knives like we do with guns.”

“Maybe we should,” Fury snapped.

“Maybe, but we don’t and most agents and cops don’t use them. You can’t single him out for preferring them,” Reynard sounded long-suffering, but he was just repeating the arguments that someone else had given him.

The comment caught Fury’s attention though, and he studied Duo. “You prefer killing with a knife?” he asked.

Duo knew a trap when he heard it. He had a good answer to this question—a true one even—but he stayed silent, curious as to where Fury would go with it.

“Guns too distant? Too impersonal? You like being up close and personal? Watching the light leave their eyes?”

He  _ did _ , but not for the reasons Fury thought. “Any idiot who points a gun in the wrong direction can kill someone,” he said. “Taking a life means something. It  _ is _ personal. If you can’t kill someone with a knife, you have no business shooting them with a gun.” 

Fury leaned back, considering. He sighed. “The world would be a much safer place if everyone thought that,” he said, sounding weary. He settled against the desk, and Duo settled in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Duo and Fury meet. If you're curious about Reynard, you can check out his history with Duo in [chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676520/chapters/58202314) of Tornadoes and Constellations (if you haven't already--beware that's a big chapter). 
> 
> Other fun things. If you would like to know what happened when Heero and Oliviana were kidnapped, [that chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226165/chapters/68246634) is now up in Ashes & Smoke. You should be able to read that chapter pretty well without reading any further parts of Ashes if that's not your taste. :) 
> 
> And... finally: I'm working on a little 5 Things+1 style sidefic for Stand, featuring Duo and Heero's firsts. They'll only be up on my Tumblr until I have them all written, but here's the first--[Duo and Heero's First Kiss.](https://angelselene.tumblr.com/post/636273730227781632/firsts-a-stars-that-have-people-names-1x2)


	28. Interlude 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hi, 'Ro."

It was less like a statement and more like an interrogation, which was about what Duo expected. He’d been given some food, but not enough, and by the time he was released, it was getting late. He paused outside the precinct and pulled out his phone. He really  _ should _ call Sam. He may have slipped “yes” past Sam, but Sam didn’t know better, and even for Duo, it was a thin line.

He really wasn’t ready to go back to the Tower and deal with Stark or the Avengers, or even Quat and Tro’s well-meaning support though. The interrogation had put him in the mind of the war, which had something else from the war heavy on his mind. 

He navigated to Sam’s number when a reminder popped up on his screen. He was actually not that far from the right part of town, if he wanted to go. As if the universe was giving him signs, a bus with the location of his reminder on it caught his eye, and he turned off the phone to run over and catch it. Once on the bus, he grabbed the bar before pulling the phone back out. He shot a quick text to Sam that said,  _ Gonna be late _ as the bus paused at the next stop. He took the opportunity to pull the battery out before Stark could use it to track him. It was time to put some ghosts to bed.

* * *

When Duo stepped into Shaken Not Stirred, an upscale bar and restaurant, he wasn't surprised to get a look from the gatekeeper. It was not the kind of place someone who looked like Duo frequented. He was clean-shaven, which was a small plus in his category that had more to do with the fact he had very little body hair than any dedication to propriety. His bangs were longer than they usually were, more framing his face than anything. He was glad he’d decided to wear some of the clothing Tony had bought for him. The shirt was a nearly black navy, had a classic, almost mandarin collar, and a fine pattern that spoke to its cost and fit like a glove. The buttery black jeans could become a favorite also spoke of money, even if his utilitarian combat boots didn't. In short, he wore expensive things but wasn't clean-cut enough to be of the upper class, so he was probably a crook.

They didn't really want to let him in, but they weren't willing to raise a fuss with it. The gatekeeper didn't dare card him.

Duo went straight to the bar, and it took all of five seconds for the bartender to come over.

"I don't care what ID you give me, no way you're legal," the man said flatly before Duo could get a sound out.

Duo gave him a rueful grin. "I am, for the record, but I actually wanted a soda on the rocks." He slid a twenty across the bar. "I'd like the excuse to take up a seat at your bar, if that’s all right."

The bartender's eyes gave him a second look, then took the twenty and nodded, coming back with a soda with a drink stirrer in it, making it look like any of a dozen alcoholic options. Duo took it and eased his way down to the end of the bar so he could settle in and watch the room.

Hacking the Fitzhugh's home network had been child's play using the Preventers mainframes. It got him not only into Oliviana Fitzhugh-Stroh’s personal network, but into her phone, and from there, he was able to get into Heero's. If anything convinced Duo that this was not his Heero anymore, it was how  _ little _ protection there was on his phone. He also wondered if Heero's memory had been affected beyond the amnesia. His schedule was planned to the fucking minute, and every one of those minutes was in his phone's calendar app. Heero had never had Duo's memory—he could memorize specs and mission details in a heartbeat, but he had to make a conscious decision to retain the information—but he could certainly keep his schedule in his head.

Tonight was a celebration of some friends finishing up midterm exams. Heero had, of course, blazed through his undergrad well ahead of any normal expectation, finishing in two and a half years, but he'd had classmates who had taken the normal time, and that was apparently who he was getting together with. Even getting kidnapped with his fiancée hadn’t slowed him down.

Of course his new princess arrived with him, but Duo had eyes only for Heero. It was the first time he'd seen Heero in more than nine months, and it still hit him like a solid kick to the balls. He watched Heero for a while, watched him greet guys with handshakes, and in a couple of cases, hand clasps and chest bumps, unguarded in a way that Duo had seen only in their most intimate moments, and never so easily happy. Girls were greeted with air kisses and hugs.

Fitzhugh-Stroh stood at his side, easy in his space, getting and giving greetings just as warm. The way he touched her made Duo ache with longing. Heero had only ever been that tactile with Duo, and only after several years of Duo's careful instruction. He touched the others with frequency as well, far more than he had even the other pilots.

He had known, on some level, that Heero had become this somehow normal twenty-something. The weight and experiences of his pre-Preventers life were lost to him, and he radiated health and happiness. Two years had taken Duo's rough edges and sharpened them to blades that could cut with the barest pressure. Two years of normal life had polished Heero into a young man of fine standing.

Duo must have watched him and his friends for the better part of an hour before he finally made his decision, sliding the bartender another ten for indulging him. He'd picked the cash off the grumpy gatekeeper anyway.

* * *

Heero saw Hilary stiffen and his eyes lock on something over Heero’s shoulder. Heero knew that look painfully well.

"Really?" he huffed in exasperation before he turned to see what Hilary was ogling.

He turned just in time to meet—

_ Purple eyes _ .

"Hi, 'Ro," the man said, and no one, not even Liv, said his name like that, filled with more emotions than Heero could readily name. Who  _ was _ this guy?

"Fuck, Yuy, you need to introduce me," Hilary blurted.

Heero's eyes swung back to Hilary, bewildered. "I..."

"I know you don't remember me," the man said. His voice was lower than Heero might have expected, rich, with the softest L2 cadence underlying his words. "It's okay. You don't need to. Not anymore."

"I'm sorry," Oliviana stepped in. "You are—?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, but if we’ve met, I don’t remember," Heero admitted. A dull throb was beginning between his eyes, a warning of an oncoming migraine.

"No," the man agreed. "You haven't met me. But I knew you, who you were before."

Alarms started going off in Heero’s head, and he grimaced. Someone from his past. He thought he’d put this to bed already.

"Look, you don't know anything about me—" 

"I know where the scar right here"—he reached out and barely touched the outside of Heero's right bicep—"and the one right here"—his hand reached out and touched the side of Heero's left thigh—"came from."

_ Purple eyes glowing out from under a shaded cap. _

_ “It’s pretty obvious you’re the bad guy here.” _

"They're—" Heero tried to protest.

"They're scars from gunshot wounds."

Pain spiked, sharp and fierce, and Heero couldn’t tell if it were in his head or in his arm and leg. "You're wrong, and there's no way you could know that."

"I gave them to you."

Heero could sense his friends starting to stand up and close ranks at that. The man, short and lithe as he was, seemed unbothered by the threat.

_ (Because these are law students and he is so much more.) _

"Are you here to kill me?" Heero asked, fear churning his stomach.

"No," he said, soft and sure and sad. "Never." And just like that, Heero breathed easier.  _ (He never tells lies.) _

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Who I am doesn’t matter—you won’t remember anyway. I’m here ’cause I need to say goodbye." He stepped closer, and Heero let him. This man, he had said he was no threat to Heero, and Heero, God help him, he believed the man. "I've never had the chance before—to say goodbye to someone, I mean." He reached up and slid his fingers into the thick hair at Heero's nape like it was the most natural thing in the world. Some part of him he couldn’t name knew the feel of those rough fingers in his hair, knew the weight of that hand.

_ No. I. Don’t. _

"I don't—"

"I know. It's okay, really. I want you to be happy, and it's obvious you are." His thumb stroked Heero's cheek, staring at Heero as if he were the only one in the world. Those eyes froze Heero where he stood, the depth and breadth of the emotion in them— _ no one _ should look at another person like that—it was too close to worship, and it made Heero’s skin crawl. "I need to move on and let you go. So it's selfish, but let a stranger say goodbye to the man you once were." With no warning, he surged up, using the grip on Heero's nape to pull him down, and kissed him.

It should have been violent; Heero should have shoved him away. Instead, it was soft and sweet, and achingly familiar. He had kissed this man before, and often, held him in his arms, claimed him and been claimed in return. He didn’t realize he’d put a hand on his hip and cupped his face until 02 broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together.

Not 02. He had a name. Heero knew his damn name—it was on the tip of his tongue…

“I would tear the world apart for you," the man said, voice catching and so thick with emotion that Heero’s throat tightened. "But I don't think that's what you need." He stepped back, letting go, and forcing Heero to either chase him or release him. And just like that—the migraine spiked, sharp, stealing the present from him for a heartbeat.

He blinked, confused when he saw a young man, probably his own age, standing before him, looking rough around the edges but wearing clothing that spoke of privilege. "Goodbye, Heero Yuy," he said, and how did this stranger even know Heero’s name?

The man turned to Oliviana. "I hope you know how lucky you are. You'll never find someone better."

He spun on his heel and made a beeline for the door, a long braid whipping out behind him. Heero stared at his wake until Oliviana gasped, "Heero!"

Heero’s cheeks tickled with tears. He reached up and touched them, confused, but he blinked and more fell. "I don't... understand. I don't know why I'm crying." Tears thickened his voice. They choked his throat so badly, he had to swallow before he said, "What just happened?" Oliviana went into his arms, and he held her tightly, grounding himself. He could tell by the looks of his friends, he’d lost time, and he tried to mentally backtrack.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Oliviana asked, reaching up and stroking his face, the only one who’d seen him like this before, seen him when he lost time.

“Hil—Hilary found a mark,” he said, closing his eyes, trying to remember. Everything after his own sense of exasperation was a blank. 

But the tears still fell as Oliviana hugged him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of Heero's "Interludes." Now that their paths have converged, his sections will no longer be disconnected. 
> 
> I hope everyone had wonderful holidays!! I should still have a "Christmas" short coming (probably tomorrow). It was going to be their first Christmas, but it's kind of become something else, so it will be getting pulled out separately. I am so grateful to you wonderful readers and I hope I continue to please in the new year!!
> 
> Also upon request, the scene where Duo and Heero meet at the bar was originally written from Hilary's POV (Heero's camp gay best friend from way back in the first interlude). I have thrown that version up on Tumblr for [ anyone interested](https://angelselene.tumblr.com/post/638620118270836737/heeros-interlude-4-hilarys-pov).


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, I killed three of your friends a couple nights ago."

Duo wandered down the dark streets, the blank look in Heero’s eyes playing over and over in his mind. The impulse to let Shini free on the idiot who thought he was being sneaky while tailing him was strong. The guy wasn’t well-dressed enough to have gotten past Shaken Not Stirred’s gatekeeper, so Duo was sure that Heero should be out of his sights, but it still irked him. Getting drunk or high weren’t options on Duo’s plate to get out of his own head, even if he’d been inclined. It left sex or a fight.

Since he was still recovering from being shot, a fight, unless unavoidable, was a bad idea. He didn’t want Quat to fuss if he pulled his stitches again. He hadn’t had sex with a stranger since he stopped turning tricks when he was twelve. He didn’t count Jesus because they’d been acquainted for at least a few weeks before Duo decided that falling into bed with him was the best move to make. Although Jesus’s particular brand of violence-flavored sex would be a very welcome distraction, he wasn’t trusting a random stranger for it.

His thoughts circling from Heero to Jesus wasn’t productive, and he checked his tail in a store window. The guy was keeping his distance, and had he been trailing someone ordinary, he probably would’ve been missed, but it was getting late enough that he was as good as waving a neon sign for Duo. He considered ducking into an alley to let Shinigami take its due, and it throbbed under his skin at the thought. He started looking for an appropriate alley when a sticker in a window caught his eye. It wasn’t anything special, easily overlooked—an old symbol for the sun, a plain circle with a black dot in the exact center. It was still popular in astrology, but it was more popular with Spacers, and it was rare to see it like this dirtside.

On a whim, Duo opened the door next to the window where the sun was the only sign other than the number on the door. It opened to a small, undecorated hallway, but in the empty space, a soft beat pounded at a level more felt than heard. Something about the rhythm brought a smile to Duo’s lips, and he dashed up two flights of narrow stairs. He didn’t hesitate at the door, where the rhythm was clearer, just opened it and let the familiar strains of stringed instruments, flutes, and various drums wash over him. To dirtsiders, the music sometimes sounded Indian, sometimes Middle Eastern, usually folkic, but to Duo, there was an electronic undercurrent that spoke of Spacers and home.

He stepped in, and the first step was strange, forcing him to catch his balance. A second step reoriented him, and he laughed as he realized the floor was the same surface used to train for low-gravity work. It mimicked the movement in low-grav environments and was about as close as you got dirtside to the real thing.

There was a bar and high-top tables, stools attached to the bases of the tables that could maneuver around one another. Most of the tables were occupied, and except for the cloud of cheap cigarette smoke in the air, the bar could have been one of a thousand hole-in-the-wall places that littered colonial ports.

Behind the bar, a man with no hair on his head or face, including eyebrows stood, cleaning a glass. His eyebrows were tattooed over in a pattern of straight lines that Duo recognized as being from a C8 crew.

The man met his eyes, and lifted flicked his fingers at Duo as if flicking water from them. Duo grinned and made his way to the bar with the easy stride of someone who had spent more than their fair share of time working in space. The tight frown on the man’s face eased both at Duo’s easy gait and his obvious recognition of the Spacer sign.

“Black at back,” the bartender greeted.

Duo put his fist out as if he were holding something in it. “Steel in sight,” he returned, and the bartender finally grinned, made a similar fist, and bumped their curled fingers together.

“Well, no to-look like a Walker, but walk so,” the bartender observed, a clipped accent in his Spacer lingo.

Leaning on the bar because just standing on this stuff without bouncing around could be a challenge if you weren’t used to it, Duo said, “Not much of a Walker these days, but I didn’t expect to find a piece of home in the middle of New York City,” he admitted. “Duo,” he added, introducing himself with a quick fist knocked on his chest.

“Zhenya,” the bartender returned, doing the same quick knocking gesture to indicate himself. It wasn’t the Russian pronunciation of the name, but a Spacer version that was said “zen-ya.” “Drink?” he offered.

“Gas’ll do,” Duo assured, using the universal name for a house brew. It always tasted like piss to Duo, but it wasn’t like he was going to get drunk off it, and  _ not _ ordering something alcoholic would probably make Zhenya suspicious again. Duo may have been rough around the edges for Shaken Not Stirred, but he was dressed way too well for a Spacer bar. Zhenya turned to the tap, put a lidded cup to it before filling it to the lid. Real Spacer beer then—all of the carbon dioxide removed, both because you didn’t want to introduce unnecessary carbon dioxide into contained environments and because you couldn’t burp out excess gas from carbonation in zero g. So dead-flat beer it was. Duo was still amused to get the drink in a lidded cup with a self-sealing straw. “What is this place?” he asked.

“Bit’a home for grounded Walkers,” Zhenya said, which was all the explanation Duo needed. Spacers who had serious injuries or certain illnesses while down the gravity well of Earth were sometimes grounded because either low or zero gravity could be fatal or just the Gs required for escape velocity could kill. In the last twenty years, tech had gotten better, and it was possible to commercially travel between Earth and the colonies for most healthy people, but there was still a slew of medical conditions that made it inadvisable if not life-threatening. “Your crew?” he asked.

“Not a true Walker,” Duo admitted. “But Sweepers be mine.”

Zhenya’s brow ridges rose in surprise, but Duo expected that. Sweepers were damn near royalty among Spacers, so even though Duo had only lived with them for four years—if you counted the year after the first Eve War he and Heero spent with them—his ties with them would hold serious weight in any Spacer community.

“Marco?” Zhenya asked, naming the current head of what was previously Howard’s House.

“Howard,” Duo corrected, and got a low whistle. Duo hadn’t really understood the Sweepers’ place in Spacer society, much less G and Howard’s places, until after the Eve Wars. Howard was a damned living legend as one of the founders of Sweepers House, which was the newest House established among Walkers in the last century.

Zhenya trilled a call to get everyone’s attention. “High and shiny here, Walkers!” he called, pointing to Duo. “Sweepers vi Howard!”

Cat calls, whistles, and cheers went up. If Sweepers had been esteemed before the Eve Wars, their public parts in bringing down Libra made them the most respected group of Spacers there was. No Spacer would falsely claim kinship to Sweepers. Lying about such a connection was as good as suicide. Colonists and Spacers knew better than any dirtsider how critical Earth still was to supporting life in the sphere. Spacers  _ might _ make it without Earth. The colonies wouldn’t.

Duo accepted the hails with good humor, but he wasn’t surprised when the door opened and his tail stepped in. If this had been a normal trashy bar, the guy might have had a prayer, but as it was, he took a step, barely gained his balance, took a second step, and landed flat on his face.

“Hey, mudsucker,” Zhenya called, using one of the ruder terms for an Earther. “If you can’t stand, get out of my bar.”

To his credit, the guy got to his feet and, resembling nothing so much as a drunken giraffe, managed to make his way to the bar. He was so painfully out of place, Duo was surprised he didn’t turn and walk straight out, but he seemed to realize that would be even more suspicious. He all but collapsed onto a stool, ignoring Duo, and Zhenya moved over to take his order.

A rangy man who was seven foot if he was six, came over and slid between Duo and his tail. “To dance, pretty Flier?” he asked, holding out a hand in invitation.

Before finding this place, Duo couldn’t imagine agreeing, but even with the smoke in the air, it was  _ home _ in that way Duo had nearly forgotten, and it was a welcome balm. The years spent on  _ Peacemillion _ and other, smaller Sweeper ships, learning what it was to be a Walker, working on Deathscythe, and training to be a Gundam pilot were  _ good _ years, years he’d learned to be an adult while still being given the slack to be a kid for the first time since the Church. Even with the memories of the year spent introducing Heero to Spacer culture, it reminded him that there had been life before Heero Yuy and Jesus Reyes. There would be life  _ after _ them too.

Duo smiled and let his hand be swallowed by the tall man’s correspondingly enormous one. “Might to knock the ice off,” he said, the dialect a little rusty even in his own ears. G had always worried about him getting Spacerspeak too ingrained in his speech and giving him away, so he’d discouraged Duo from speaking it too much, but the near-broken syntax of it had a musicality of its own.

The Walker grinned back, wide in a thin face, but sincere. Duo took a moment to push his drink back toward Zhenya, then let himself be dragged to where there was now a cleared space on the floor.

The two of them dancing should have been laughable with the height disparity, but low-G could help make up for that in fun ways. Even though the floor wasn’t truly low-G, a lot of the same types of movement would work. The Walker raised his hands and began to clap and carefully tapped his heel in a way that would keep his knee from bouncing back up or hovering in low-G.

Others around the room took up the rhythm, and more instruments joined as an old Spacer favorite began. The Walker took his hand and began to spin him towards and away from each other in ways using their own momentum. He lifted Duo for simple flips that the floor helped with. Duo could feel his stitches pull at some of the movements, but it felt too good to just go with the mood in the room to stop.

The rangy Walker was Luca. From him, Duo was passed to Vasile, a stout, dark-skinned man, who only had a couple inches on Duo and a prosthetic leg but still moved like a lifelong Walker, then to Bing, who was more petite than Duo but still lead him around as if he weighed nothing. After her, Duo lost track of the people he was passed to, simply losing himself in the music and the people and the sense of belonging. He caught his breath a couple times at the bar, happily accepting just water from Zhenya before getting pulled back to the floor by Bing again. If he hadn’t been wearing his holster, he’d have taken his jacket off, but Spacers didn’t like guns, and it was all but guaranteed to kill the raucous mood. Instead he rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoned a couple extra buttons on his shirt, and kept the jacket zipped. A familiar figure had slipped in at some point, standing out only slightly less than Duo’s tail did, which wasn’t saying much.

Speaking of his tail, Duo was surprised to get passed to him. The man did a passable job of replicating the dance steps. 

“You know, I killed three of your friends a couple nights ago,” Duo said when the tail pulled him in close, low enough that he was unlikely to be overheard.

The tail raised an eyebrow as if merely curious. “Did you now?”

There was culture in that voice, but for the first time in hours, Shini stirred under Duo’s skin. He might sound cultured, but Shini knew him—that was all Duo needed to know. His tail caught him slightly off guard when he pulled Duo to his chest and murmured, “There are far too many people here to pull your gun out.”

Duo threw his head back and laughed. He could hear Death in that laugh, even if this guy was too stupid to, and made a move that took him back out to arm’s length. When he was pulled back in, he said, “It’s cute you think I need a gun.”

“My turn,” Maria Hill said, sliding in and effectively placing herself between Duo and his tail. She moved almost like a natural on the floor, meaning she had some space experience that she hadn’t mentioned. Duo laughed, a genuine one this time, ready to fall back into the pass-and-go steps.

The tail reached out and grabbed Duo’s arm, yanking him off balance. Duo barely had a chance to look up and watch as Vasile grabbed a pitcher and promptly broke it against the back of the tail’s head. Flat beer soaked the guy as the pitcher broke and splashed Duo liberally, but Duo was laughing too hard at the look on the tail’s face as he went down to be annoyed. Duo stepped over the unconscious form to grasp forearms with Vasile. “Thanks,” he said. “Had control, though.”

Vasile grinned, unapologetic. “Did know,” he agreed. “But safe to go and alone now.”

Duo knelt to check the man’s pulse, it was steady, but he didn’t even groan. “Did ya have to hit him  _ that _ hard? That’s a plastic pitcher—they don’t break easy against a head,” he said, but he was trying not to laugh as he said it.

Vasile gave him a lazy, could-mean-anything shrug. “Slipped.”

Shaking his head, Duo made his way back to the bar, knowing it was time for him to head out. Chances were good that his tail wasn’t alone, so he’d have to lose anyone else before he went back to the Tower if he could. Hill hovered at his back, not in his space, but not far from it. He reached for his wallet, but Zhenya put his hand up.

“Cred’s no good here,” he said.

“At least let me cover Vasile’s pitcher,” Duo insisted, pulling out three twenties and sliding them across the counter.

“Misunderstood, you did,” Zhenya said, pushing Duo’s money back. “Pilot’s money is no good here.” Duo blinked, surprised, because there had been a very particular emphasis on the word  _ pilot _ . “Took me time, old brain, slow brain,” Zhenya explained, tapping at his temple. “But knew of Howard’s boy. Knew of G’s boy,” he said, meeting Duo’s eyes, his voice low enough not to carry beyond Duo. “Your tab is paid for. Got no use for a pilot’s money.”

A little off guard—it had been a while since he’d been around people who knew what he was—he said, “At least pour the bad guy into a cab and give whoever has to clean up that mess a nice tip.” Duo lifted his hand from the money, refusing to take it back.

Zhenya looked put out, but he couldn’t exactly jump across the bar to force Duo to take the money back. “I mean it, pilot,” he said, a little gruff. “Your money’s no good here. And if a safe place you need, find old Zhenya. Walkers give proper respect.” He raised a hand to his forehead, palm out, then folded it down to rest it over his heart, holding Duo’s eyes until his head bowed too far to do so.

Startled, Duo glanced around, realizing the room had fallen quiet. Most eyes met his for a moment before repeating Zhenya’s gesture of respect. Murmurs of  _ Walkers remember _ made their way to Duo’s ears. Humbled, he bowed his own head, then reversed the gesture, starting with his fist over his heart, then opening his palm with the back of his hand to his forehead.

“Go, now,” Zhenya said. “Walkers take care of this one.”

Duo nodded, moving toward the door, but he hesitated before leaving. He saw Zhenya watching him, and the older man smiled for the first time that night. “Always welcome, Duo,” he assured.

Feeling Hill’s eyes on him, Duo gave another sharp nod of acknowledgement, then left.

He didn’t hesitate before choosing a direction when he hit the street. He had to ensure his own trail was clear before going back to the Tower, but a smile lingered at his lips. His quick, sure steps forced Hill to speed up to catch him. “That was something,” she commented neutrally.

“Were you tailing me or my tail?” Duo asked.

“You.”

“Une ask you to keep a line on me?” He slid a sideways glance to her. “Or did Fury?”

“I’m a Preventer now,” she said.

He laughed, the good humor of the bar lingering. “That’s not an answer.”

She was the one to look at him this time. “Does it matter?”

_ Did it? _ A little, probably. But he trusted Une to know of Hill’s potentially compromised loyalties, and both Une and Fury would probably be interested in him for their own reasons. He decided to change the subject. “Moved pretty good up there for a dirtsider.”

Her soldier’s eyes tracked the street around them, but it was late and dark and Duo would know if someone were taking too much interest in them. “Did I?” she asked.

Another non-answer. Duo shook his head, knowing he wasn’t going to get anything out of her without much harder pushing that he wasn’t willing to do. He made a beeline to an all-night convenience store. She followed him in as he made himself a cup of coffee.

“You smell like a drunken ashtray,” she informed, watching him pour enough creamer into his coffee to make it a sandy color.

“That’s what happens when you spend time in Spacer bars,” Duo told her. He went to the register, noted the wary way the night clerk eyed him from behind his plexiglass protection. Duo pulled out his badge—there was a permanent Preventer office in New York, so the convenience stores should be familiar with it.

The clerk frowned as he eyed it. “Do you expect free coffee since you’re a cop?” he asked, looking nervous.

“Nope,” Duo said cheerfully. “I actually wanted a pack and figured you’d think my ID’s a fake. This one works better.”

The tension eased from the man’s shoulders, and he quickly got Duo a pack of his requested brand.

He could feel Hill’s eyes staring into him. She should never do undercover work with eyes like those. Once he paid for the coffee, cigarettes, and a lighter, he tucked his change away—even though it could be stolen, he still liked the anonymity of cash—and turned to face her. Her poker face was impressive, but Duo had seen better.

“Gonna tell on me?” he asked as they stepped outside, unable to keep the teasing out of his voice.

“I didn’t expect you to smoke,” she admitted as he began to make his meandering way back to the Tower.

He broke the cellophane and cracked the pack open. “If you tell me these things could kill me, I gotta tell ya…” He glanced back, grinning.

She shook her head. “No, I just didn’t think Spacers smoked.”

Duo popped a stick into his mouth, paused just long enough to get it lit and take a drag before he started moving again. “They don’t,” he agreed. “Not unless they’re grounded. They’re much more into vices that can be chewed or snorted.”

“Then…” She trailed off and fell silent.

“Why smoke ’em?” he asked, spinning to face her, walking backwards. She made a face as the smoke floated her way. He spun back around, giving himself his own little cloud. The almost sweet smell of the clove cigarette evoked a powerful sense memory. He let himself sink into it for a moment, before forcing himself to pay more attention to his surroundings. Just because Hill was with him wasn’t a reason to be sloppy.

He could still feel Hill’s eyes on his back, so he glanced behind again, raising the cigarette as if to take another puff, but mostly enjoying the smell and the memories it brought, so real, he could almost feel Jesus’s weight at his back for a moment. The memories and scents buried old pains under the newer ones, Jesus’s ghost joining his personal cadre of beloved dead.

To Hill he just said, “Walkers remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Spacerspeak:
> 
> We saw some in Ch 24 with Duo, but more here. I’m a little bit of a linguistics geek (very, very amateur, just enough to be a little dangerous) so, there were specific things I wanted this Spacerspeak to do and for it to function that wasn’t just dropping letters and slurring together words. I wanted it to have distinct and consistent rules. It’s loosely inspired by Belter language in James S.A. Corey’s The Expanse series. We also see the beginnings of sign language used during space walks making its way into Spacerspeak, which I am shamelessly borrowing from The Expanse as well.
> 
> -Subject dropping—I’m assuming that there was a good amount of exposure to Romance languages which do a lot of subject dropping (because the subject is encoded in the verb). It’s why “yo soy” isn’t really said in Spanish, if you’re familiar with the example. Soy is I am, and yo is I, so saying Yo soy is redundant in most cases. L2 and Spacer dialects picked that up, so they do a lot of subject dropping. Spacers, in general, don’t use “I” or “you” unless they are making a particular point. It’s rude. If they feel the need to reinforce the subject without being rude, it’s added to the end (which can result in it sometimes sounding a little Yoda-speak-ish). L2 and Spacer culture are closely related as a lot of the original Spacers were L2 undesirables who “got off the ring,” and basically never went back.
> 
> -No future tense—instead they use the infinitive verb, “to [verb]”. They will also use that infinitive form in place of “will”—so “To dance, pretty Flier?” is basically “Will [you] dance [with me]?”  
> \---Also not big on helping verbs in general—has, have, had, be (and its iterations), so you’ll usually see the infinitive there too.  
> \----Might to knock off the ice.  
> \-----§ [You] might [have] to knock the ice off.  
> \--------“knock the ice off.” Since space is typically cold, any exterior condensation can (and usually does) turn to ice, and ships occasionally get icy. That ice will stay there until it’s knocked off. It’s like saying something is rusty or needs to be shined up.
> 
> -Heavy reliance on context—plenty of languages do this, but you don’t notice it when actually talking to someone. It isn’t seen in writing very often, because you have to be more precise/clear in written language. Especially in causal language, Spacers drop out unnecessary words. English, as a whole, is an extremely specific language. Plenty of languages do it by context instead. Japanese is awesome at this, for example. For Spacers, in technical contexts, they’ll be as specific as they need to be (like when training), but in a casual context like this, dropping words is a sign of friendliness, but it can also be a way to deliberately exclude outsiders. Duo tends to start dropping into it when stressed because it’s pretty much his native dialect.
> 
> -Colonists vs. Spacers – a colonist is anyone born or raised on colonies. The exact line of what is/isn’t is the immigrant problem (if you moved to a country when you were two, but weren’t born there, are you effectively a native of that country or not?). Spacers are a subset of (mostly) colonists, the first true “gen” of Spacers were from L2, though they’ll take anyone these days. They spend most of their time living in low or no g on ships, and only, really, come in to colonies to restock or on specific social occasions. Most normal colonists are suspicious of Spacers because they’re modern-day nomads and usually have loose relationships with the law. They have their own codes among themselves,but they tend to be very insular. Spacers call themselves Walkers (Space Walkers). A Flier, like Duo, is someone who has walked but still goes back to ground/goes down the gravity well, since not all Spacers can safely do that if they’ve lived too long in low/no G (thank you again, Expanse). Most of the people at the bar are Fliers who have been grounded and can’t return to space.
> 
> -“Black at back/Steel in sight.” – this is a reminder that became a greeting among Spacers. When you’re spacewalking, make sure you keep the black[space] at your back and the steel [ship] in your sight.
> 
> -Dirtsider – anyone born and raised on Earth. It’s not really polite, but it’s not any ruder than “jerk.” Dirtside does have an inherent, somewhat derogatory implication, especially when used by a Spacer. Think of how “bloody” in UK English vs US English.
> 
> -Mudsucker – this would be one of those “getting shit past the radar” things since the word doesn’t seem bad outside the culture. This is roughly equivalent to calling someone a “cocksucker” in severity. It pretty much has the same source—“If you love the dirt so much, why don’t you blow it?” Only this one’s even worse, because you’d suck mud. Dirtsucker is a slightly less offensive version of this, but really, neither of them are things you’d probably say in polite company.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Boss, Mr. Winner would like to speak with you, if that’s all right.”

“Boss, Mr. Winner would like to speak with you, if that’s all right,” FRIDAY announced, and Tony closed all the windows with Eve Wars research.

“Send him down,” he said, picking up pieces of a gauntlet to keep his hands busy. He didn’t realize how late it was until Winner was standing in front of him in sleep pants, slippers, and an oversized long-sleeve shirt that probably belonged to his partner. “Too worried to sleep?” he asked.

“About Duo?” Winner asked.

“Do we have another person of interest in common?”

Winner smiled indulgently. He was really _way_ too young to give Tony that look. “No, I’m not worried about Duo. I’m not especially pleased that he felt the need to talk his way around Mr. Wilson, but not really surprised either. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. Miss FRIDAY said you were still awake.”

Tony wants to push it, wants to point out that Duo took his battery out of his phone, has gone completely dark, wants to know why Winner just isn’t that concerned, but decides to let it drop for the moment. Of the two of them, there’s no question that Winner knows Duo better. “Yeah, well, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist is a lot fit into a mere twenty-four hours. Who has time to sleep.”

Winner padded over on surprisingly quiet feet. “May I?” he asked when he reached a stool.

“Help yourself.”

He sat, posture prim and painfully correct, which was at odds with the oversized shirt.“You forgot the most important one,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Winner recited, diction as precise as only the best tutors could instill. “And father.”

“Yeah, well, I’m doing a pretty shitty job of that last one,” he said, staring down at the gauntlet in his hands. “He’s safe here, you know,” Tony had to tell him. “I would never let anything happen to him here.”

“I know. Duo does too, even if it’s hard to see. He would never have allowed us to come here if he didn’t truly believe it were safe.”

“Didn’t seem like you gave him much of a choice in the matter,” Tony quipped.

Winner gave him a small, dry smile. Tony wondered if he remembered how to smile for real or if they’d all become affectations. “We would have come to Earth no matter what, yes. But we wouldn’t be _here_ in the Tower if he did not believe we would be safe here. Duo does not take risks with people he loves. Especially not now.”

Something in his voice made Tony look up, and he caught a flash of grief before Winner hid it. A consummate politician, this one. “You’re not talking about Reyes,” he guessed.

He shook his head. “No,” he agreed.

“Yuy,” Tony guessed.

A sad, tight smile. “Yes.”

“Tell me about him. I know he and Duo were partners. They joined Preventers at the same time, so I’m assuming they knew each other before they joined. I know Yuy is still listed as Duo’s next-of-kin on his file.”

Winner made a soft not-chuckle. “I guess she never updated it when he went undercover to preserve the fiction that he’d quit. You don’t update next-of-kin for inactive Preventers,” he said, though he still seemed sad. “But yes, they were partners in all senses of the word.”

“I thought Preventers had a strict no-frat policy?”

“You’d have to ask Une why she made an exception,” he suggested. “I can’t speak to her personnel decisions,” he added, giving a helpless shrug.

Tony narrowed his eyes. He didn’t trust Winner. No one who had as much money and influence as Winner did was this seemingly harmless. “Okay, then. Pretending I believe you don’t actually know, how did you and Duo even end up being friends?”

That earned a real smile, but shrewd eyes considered Tony before he spoke. “Do you know what my first thought was when I learned that you were Duo’s father?” he asked instead.

“Ah-ah.” Tony wagged a finger at him. “I asked first.”

“It’s related. I assure you.”

Tony gave him an openly suspicious look then said. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did you think?”

“That he certainly took after you.”

Whose leg did Winner think he was pulling? “Sure you did.”

“No, really. You may have had a lot of public catastrophes, but when I first heard you were his father, I thought of some of your most public triumphs. I think he inherited a lot of the best parts of you.”

“The best parts of me?” Tony asked, and he couldn’t help the sarcasm.

“Your personability. Your charisma—"

“Uh, clearly you have me confused with someone else, because no one would ever accuse me of being personable. I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others—that’s just the base personality assessment.”

Of course Winner had the nerve to look amused. “You armor yourself with narcissism, ego, and sarcasm, but you won the devoted loyalties of Pepper Potts and James Rhodes,” he said, more an observation than a criticism. “You can afford to offend everyone, and keeping the gold diggers at arms’ length is just common sense. But if you took away the money and the fame, I suspect you would do much what Duo did—charm people. Win them over. Invite them in. Use that brilliance to make people _want_ to get to know you, want to be around you, want to support you. You were born with the power of your name, and the value of your regard only grew as your brilliance became public.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re trying to butter me up or see how many backhanded compliments you can load into one monologue.”

“You both use sarcasm to deflect, and you both suck at accepting genuine compliments.”

“Yeah, still think they’re of the backhanded variety.”

“I’m telling you that I believe many of Duo’s best qualities are qualities that he inherited from _you_. No backhand angle,” Winner said, patient.

Tony looked at him hard for a beat before challenging, “Okay, kitty cat, tell me something about Duo that I should know. Something we share.”

Winner gave him a shrewd look before answering. “Neither of you like to be honest, for one.”

“Duo told me he doesn’t tell lies?” Tony shot back, half question, half challenge.

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Winner assured. “But I think you know better than most not to mistake telling the truth as honesty. Duo will not tell you a lie—he generally even avoids hyperbole. Don’t think that means he’s being honest. And _don’t_ make the mistake of thinking that just because _he_ won’t tell you the lie, that he isn’t perfectly content to let you _believe_ one.”

“Great thing for us to share—dishonesty.”

“You said something you should know and something you share. You didn’t say it should be a virtue. He couldn’t just get your good qualities, after all,” Winner said, and he somehow looked disarming again when he said it. “It’s funny, you know, that you and I haven’t had the occasion to meet before now. The press loves to compare us to one another.”

“You mean contrast us. About the only thing you and I have in common is that we’re two of the richest men on or off planet.”

“Arguably the two richest,” Winner agreed. “And yet we’re both still greedy.”

Tony made a face. “Greedy is not a word I’ve seen associated with you—me, sure, no question. You’re the shining scion of the colonies.”

The smile Winner gave him was sharp and dark and even a little menacing. “And yet, we who have more money and power and influence than most people can even begin to comprehend, we still want more. We want people to love us, be loyal to us for who we are. We want the regard of the ones who cannot be bought.”

“Is that really greedy?” Tony asked. “Or is it just human nature?”

“It’s greed if we can’t let go of those who don’t want to give it.”

There it was, Tony thought. “You think I should just let Duo shut me out? Cut me off?”

“Part of me says yes,” Winner admitted without hesitation, then paused before he continued. “You and your team, you have one of the most genuinely dangerous occupations in the world. You stand at the front lines willingly. It’s something he understands and respects, but I don’t know if he will survive another blow. He’s… better, a little. But the Duo you have met is a pale shadow of the man he was. Losing Heero…” He clasped his hands so tightly, the knuckles turned white. “It broke him, in a way that no other loss ever has.” He stood and walked over to where the old suits were standing, putting his hands in his pockets, and for the first time since they’d been introduced, Tony saw not just the façade Winner liked to project, but the man who ran the biggest family-owned corporation not named Stark in the world. Winner had only been fifteen when his father had died and he had to take over his company. He hadn’t had a mentor available like Obadiah, but he’d been arguably more successful than Tony had. This wasn’t a man to be trifled with.

“I have the BARF, you know. Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing—it basically allows you to walk through your memories in a virtual reality so you can, you know, reframe them in the context of who you are now. We’re using it with Barnes to deal with the brainwashing, and he’s got a lot of induced amnesia. It’s certainly worth looking into whether it might help… Yuy?”

Winner was already shaking his head. “Maybe if it had been available immediately after the accident, it would have been worth trying. It’s been nearly three years. Heero has a new life, and it’s one in which he does not know that Duo Maxwell exists.”

“Yeah, I noticed that when I met him.”

Winner’s head snapped around. “When did you—”

“Hey, housing arrangements weren’t that hard to get a hold of. When I found Duo’s old address, I also found that he had a roommate. I tracked Yuy down more than a year ago. He… didn’t even recognize the name,” Tony admitted. “His girlfriend was less than friendly too—no wonder Pepper likes her so much.”

“Oliviana will be formidable,” Winner agreed neutrally, turning back to the suits. “Neither the Fitzhughs nor the Strohs are known for being pushovers.”

“Are you sure it isn’t worth a shot?” Tony asked.

“Duo and Heero were one another’s next of kin. He was at Heero’s bedside every minute he could be, but if he so much as left the room, Heero would completely forget him.”

“That…” Tony paused, frowning. “That doesn’t sound normal.”

“It happened with others too. We’d visit, and if we left for more than a day, he’d have a hard time remembering we’d met and who we were. We have—had, rather—mutual friends who are still in the Fitzhugh-Stroh’s social circles. People Heero knew. People who he can now barely remember, even meeting them at multiple events years later. It’s like his mind can’t retain anyone he used to know. But the effect was most pronounced with Duo—and it got worse as time wore on. To the point where if Duo left his line of sight, he’d forget him.”

“I’m not a doctor, but I know how amnesia works pretty well by now—and that isn’t it.”

“Not how it should work,” Winner agreed. “Or, if he was forgetting everyone from before, he shouldn’t be able to remember new people at all, but he could remember his doctors and nurses.” 

Tony got there. “Unless he subconsciously wanted to forget everything from before,” he said, his stomach sinking.

Winner turned back to him. “That was the doctors’ evaluation.” His eyes were sad but resigned. “He knew he was forgetting people, and he got frustrated. After discussing with his doctors, he decided that whatever he had lost, he had lost for good reason, and us all trying to be there and help him regain it was impeding his recovery. After three months, he told us he wouldn’t see us anymore and not to attempt to contact him any further. He wanted to move on with his life.”

Tony closed his eyes, heart aching for his son. Just hearing it, and not knowing Yuy at all, Tony it felt like a kick in the gut. How much worse for Duo—who had loved him? “What did Duo do?” He had to ask. He didn’t want to ask. Part of him didn’t want to know, but he _needed_ to.

“He did what he always does,” Winner said, soft, his voice barely carrying in the room. “He put Heero first, even at his own expense.” He let out a slow breath that sounded shaky, but when he spoke again, his voice was steady. “He always puts others first. He’s never really believed that he has value beyond his skills. In his deepest heart of hearts, he’ll always be the nobody L2 orphan who will be forgotten when he’s gone.”

That statement hung in the air until Tony couldn’t stand it. “Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked. “If you don’t think I should have a right to him, that I would be good for him? If you think I’m just another ticking timebomb of loss waiting it hit, why tell me anything?”

“There is a large part of me that says you’re another wound waiting to happen.” He looked at Tony like he could read his mind before he sighed. “But the larger part of me says he needs new bonds or we’re going to lose him.”

Tony’s chest felt tight at the implication, but of course this was where the conversation was going. It should have occurred to him sooner, but no one would accuse Tony of having a high emotional IQ. People were so much more complicated than machines. “Do we need to set a suicide watch?”

To his credit, Winner considered it before shaking his head. “If Duo were going to kill himself, he’d already be dead.”

If Winner were trying to be reassuring, he was failing.

“What do you need from me?”

“Keep him busy. He threw himself into work after Heero left. Have you brought him down here?”

“Haven’t had much of a chance. He’s only really been in the Tower for, what, four days total? He came down here the day you arrived, but he didn’t seem very interested in anything—mostly just had some questions for me.”

“Invite him down and give him something to work on. He’s a genius with machines. This place should be irresistible to him.”

“Genius with machines, huh?”

The smile Winner gave him was wry. “I wonder where he got that from.”

“Any other tips or tricks you care to share?”

“You can ask questions, but don’t push. Don’t lie to him. No matter how flexible his definition of a lie can be, he doesn’t tell them, and he hates being lied to. And stay away from Heero—both as a topic and the person.”

“You really don’t think I could help?” Tony wondered.

“I really think there are far less painful ways to commit suicide than provoking Duo.”

Remembering Duo’s nonchalance about cutting out part of a man’s jaw, Tony figured that was less a joke than a sincere warning.

“How _did_ you guys get to be friends?” he asked again, leaning back. He’d been curious since he first realized they were, but he didn’t feel like he’d gotten any substantial answers.

Winner yawned, covering his mouth politely. “I apologize. Looks like the time is finally catching up to me.”

“That wasn’t an answer,” Tony accused.

“I told you, we met when one of my homes was used as a Rebellion safehouse.”

“That’s how you met, not how you ended up friends.”

“When he wants to be, Duo is quite irresistible, and I am far from an immovable object, Mr. Stark. Get him to stick around long enough, and you’ll understand.” He walked toward the door. “You should think about getting some sleep as well. I have continued jetlag to blame for my sleeplessness. What’s your excuse?”

He didn’t stick around to wait for a response, and Tony watched his back until he got onto the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to have Tony and Quat have a one-on-one chat. Had to do it. Hope you enjoyed!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Duo has returned,” FRIDAY announced. “He’s on his way up.”

“Sam, sit down,” Wanda told him.

“He told me—he _said_ he’d call,” Sam repeated, not for the first time in the past several hours. “Is there _anything_ —?” he cut himself off.

Vision gave him a sad look. “He must have removed the battery from his phone as neither Mr. Stark nor I have been able to track him,” he reiterated with as much patience as he had every time Sam asked. Wanda reached out and rubbed Vision’s arm, knowing he was concerned as well.

“His friends don’t seem worried,” Wanda reminded. There was something about Winner that she didn’t like, that rubbed her wrong in a way she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t the same way that Maxwell himself rubbed her wrong. Maxwell made some deep instinct curl up in fear, though he’d given her little reason to think he was a threat to her. She was the Scarlet Witch, and she’d seen nothing that should make her afraid of him.

And yet… there was something inside him, something that wasn’t right, something that she feared on a primal level.

Winner wasn’t the same, but when her power brushed him, it recognized something like itself. Since he hadn’t made any explanation or otherwise attempted to interact with her power, she couldn’t be sure, but it still made her wary.

“Duo has returned,” FRIDAY announced. “He’s on his way up.”

“FRIDAY, can you redirect him here if Stark hasn’t already?” Sam asked.

“Of course, Mr. Wilson.”

It was only a minute before the elevator door opened. Maxwell looked perplexed for a moment before he seemed to figure it out, then sagged. He shoved off the wall and stepped out. He looked tired and dirty, shirt clinging to him.

“You said you’d call,” Sam swooped down on him like he was in his Falcon pack.

Maxwell sighed. “What I actually said was ‘if I say yes, will you go?’ I didn’t actually say I’d call.”

Wanda didn’t like the fine distinction he was making, and judging by Sam’s expression, neither did he.

“Think you’re cute, do you?”

“I think you’ve been stressing out for way too long, and you should go to bed,” Maxwell replied, moving to head to the stairs.

“I thought maybe we could be friends,” Sam snapped as Maxwell made it to the door. “What were you doing anyway? You smell like you took a bath in a bar.”

Maxwell’s shoulders tightened, then dropped as if the fight had gone out of him. “I don’t want to fight,” he said, not turning to look at Sam.

“You don’t leave friends hanging like that. _Hydra_ has already come after you once. Anything could have happened—”

The door in front of Maxwell opened, startling everyone as Winner popped up. “Duo!” he said, pleased. “I thought you were back!”

Maxwell gave him an odd look. “Quat,” he greeted.

“Did you get into a bar fight?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you going to grab a shower then?”

Even from where she was standing, Wanda could see the exasperated fondness on Maxwell’s face.

“You could just tell me I smell like a dive bar, you know?”

Winner gave him wide, innocent eyes. “I didn’t say that!”

It made Maxwell chuckle. “I’ll go hop in the shower. You should go the hell to bed.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Winner said.

Maxwell gave him another careful look, then sighed. “Play nice. Night, Quat.”

“Good night, Duo!”

Winner waited courteously, perfectly polite smile on his face for a minute before giving them a long look that Wanda couldn’t read.

“I don’t recommend doing that,” he said, gentle but with an undertone of steel.

“Doing what?” Sam asked, obviously defensive.

“Treating Duo like a child.”

“He was acting like one.”

Winner shook his head as if disappointed. “He has spent all day being grilled by Nick Fury, and I would guess, he’s been talking about his _dead husband_ a lot.” He paused, looking at them each in turn. “Jesus Reyes has been in the ground for less than three months. He is still mourning. I think that warrants some latitude and at least a little empathy.”

“We have all lost people,” Wanda said, not liking something about Winner’s tone.

“Of course we have,” Winner said, meeting her eyes fearlessly. “But few of us have lost as much as recently.”

The condescension made her grit her teeth. 

“Grief can make people unpredictable, and Hydra has already gone after him once,” Sam pointed out with remarkable calm. “Doing things like refusing to stay in contact and taking the _battery_ out of his phone is dangerous.”

“It is,” Winner agreed too easily. “But it is Duo, and as he has already demonstrated, he is a force to be reckoned with. You cannot cage him. You cannot confine him. You cannot force him down a desired path. The moment you try to do any of those things, he will do his best to subvert you. If you try to make him go left, he will go right. If you demand he go through an obstacle, he will find a way around it. If you give him two choices, he _will_ find a third.”

“That sounds just like Stark,” Wanda couldn’t help but comment.

Sky-blue eyes jump back to hers. “He is Mr. Stark’s son,” he reminded.

“He is actively being hunted by Hydra because of that,” Sam reminded in turn. “Doesn’t that worry you at all?”

Winner sighed. “Perhaps it should, but honestly, no. As I said, Duo is still grieving.”

“What does that mean?” Wanda asked, confused as to the relevance.

There was a hesitation where Winner obviously chose his words with care. The temptation to push into his mind was strong, but both her instincts and recent events stayed her hand. She may not like Stark, but she was aware of what was owed to him, aware of what they were trying to build here. If she violated the mind of a guest for any reason less than outright attack, she had no doubt Stark would see her back in prison before she could say _wait_.

“Let’s just say that I pity any Hydra agent who makes the mistake of targeting Duo Maxwell while he’s grieving,” he finally said.

Wanda remembered the tattoo from that night when Maxwell was shot, remembered the scars. “Death walks with him,” she said, the words seemed to hang in the air, visible only in her mind’s eye, before they dissipated.

Winner’s expression firmed in a way that told her this discussion was over. “Indeed it does, Ms. Maximoff. Good night, Vision, Mr. Wilson.” He nodded to each in turn, then opened the door even as their perfunctory responses hung in the air.

The door should have slammed, but true to most things in the Tower, it closed softly.

“I think Mr. Winner expects that Duo will kill anyone who tries to attack him while he is grieving,” Vision said as if the conclusion perplexed him. Wanda stepped over to him, taking his hand, as much for her own comfort as for his while he looked at her in confusion.

“I think he does, Viz,” she said, looking into his pale blue eyes.

“Duo has not struck me as someone cruel,” he said, brow furrowing.

Sam sighed. “He doesn’t have to be cruel, Viz. He just has to be hurting, and willing to use that hurt to lash out.”

Vision still looked confused, but it was an emotion Wanda could relate to only too well.

* * *

When Tony walked out onto the deck, it took him a minute to see the shadow sitting out on the ledge. He almost mistook Duo’s silhouette for Maximoff’s since his hair was down and floating lazily in the wind, but it was too long, and Duo too small. Letting himself stare for a moment—it wasn’t like Tony didn’t know he was up here—though he was suddenly very aware of how exposed and precarious the edge of the walkway was.

“You’re taking a risk out here,” Tony said because he really had no idea what to say to Duo anymore, but he couldn’t not talk. He'd come out here to talk to Duo after all. “Could be drones flying around, trying to get a glimpse at you.”

Duo shrugged, and Tony noticed the soft ember glow of a cigarette dangling from his fingers at the same time that the sweet scent of a clove cigarette made its way to him.

“Please don’t smoke those in the Tower,” Tony said instead of having the epic parenting freak out he wanted to have. It would be _awesome_ if Duo would just not do at least one knowingly life-threatening thing.

He was surprised when Duo laughed, a soft, oddly languid sound that made Tony wonder if he were either drunk or high. Duo flicked the long ash trail off to be carried away by the wind, but he didn’t take a hit. “I don’t actually smoke,” he said, looking back at Tony for the first time.

“Could have fooled me.” Tony wandered closer to the edge.

“Jesus smoked these, sometimes,” Duo admitted.

It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but Tony took it anyway and sat down—though farther from the edge than Duo. “Jesus Reyes smoked hipster clove cigarettes?”

“I think he just liked the smell, honestly,” Duo said, and there was enough light for Tony to see the bittersweet smile twisting at his lips. “They don’t taste like they smell though. I will never forget the look on his face the first time I told him he better brush his damn teeth if he wanted to kiss me.”

It startled a chuckle out of Tony, because the mental image of Duo telling someone like Reyes off like that was inherently funny.

“How’d that go over?”

“Better than you’d think, once he realized I meant it.” He flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette again. “I’m sorry, about earlier.”

Tony tried not to stare, because he had not expected an apology from Duo. “You don’t—”

“Don’t let me off the hook for behaving like an asshole just because you’re afraid of scaring me away,” he said. “I knew Sam expected me to call. Even if I knew Quat knew I was fine, I should have at least let you know. Not because you’re…” he trailed off for a moment, as if looking for a way to say “dad” without either being offensive or derogatory. He must have given up, because when he continued he said, “Because you’re putting me up, and Father and Sister beat at least that much courtesy into me.” Tony must have been staring, because he hastily corrected, “ _Metaphorically_ beat. Verbally, through long-suffering repetition. Father didn’t think L2 kids needed more violence in their lives, even in the name of discipline.”

Tony stared into eyes washed silver by the moonlight for a long moment before he said, “Apology accepted, just… don’t do it again.” 

Duo sighed. “I’m not making a promise I don’t know that I can keep. I’ll try. It’s been a while since I really answered to anyone. I’m out of the habit.”

“You didn’t answer to Reyes?”

“Not really. I mean, I was almost always with him, so I never really had to explain myself. He was possessive, but not because he thought I’d cheat. Not sure if he trusted me because of his reputation or because he knew I just wasn’t interested in anyone else.”

“Have you been drinking?” The question escaped Tony before he realized he wanted to ask it, but even in his limited exposure to Duo, Tony knew he was being unusually candid, and there was something languid and lazy about him that made Tony wonder.

“Can’t get drunk,” Duo said, and something in his voice mourned it, even as he took on that L2 lilt again. “Least, not anymore. Same as with the anesthetics. Every exposure seems to increase the tolerance square.” He looked at the stub that was all that was left of the cigarette as it burned brighter in the wind, then tapped it, rubbed it out against the sole of his shoe, and slipped the end into his pocket. “No point in smokin’ neither.”

“Anesthetics used to work on you?” Tony asked, curious.

The question seemed to shock Duo out of his melancholy, and the colonial cant dropped. “Yeah. They did. The resistance kind of crept up on me after the war. Before Une let me and…” He took a deep breath. “Yuy partner up, I went through like six partners. Three of them put me in the hospital—four of them ended up there, with or without me. Most weren’t bad agents in their own ways, they just… couldn’t keep up with me, or our styles didn’t mesh well. The last one was a prick who didn’t trust me to do my job _at all_.” He tapped his collarbone, where Bruce had found the break. “He was the last one. I took a bullet for him that shattered my collarbone because he broke cover to try and single-handedly arrest some gunrunners in the middle of a sale. Sally had noticed that anesthetics weren’t working right on me from the previous hospitalizations, but”—he shrugged—“we just thought I’d been hospitalized so much that I was building up a tolerance. It wasn’t until I woke up on the operating table that she realized it was a lot more severe than that.” He leaned back on his elbows, careful not to lean on his hair. “Luckily, Heero insisted on being in the operating room and was able to calm me down. Sally ran a couple other tests after that, but it was obvious right away that my tolerance was growing out of proportion to the dose. So no more sedation after that.”

“How old were you when you started noticing it?” Tony asked, his mind processing the information.

“Sixteen? Seventeen? Something like that. A little late to have enhancements showing up, that’s for sure, if that’s what you’re angling at.”

“You know I wouldn’t—”

Duo waved him off. “You’re a superhero and your best friend turns into a literal green rage monster. I’m not worried you’re going to freak out if I don’t qualify as baseline.”

“To be fair, Rhodey is my best friend, and he does not turn into a rage monster. Bruce is a close second, though.” He looked at Duo, realizing it was odd to see him so relaxed. “What made you decide to share at 3 a.m.?” Tony had to ask.

“I was an asshole, and I said I’d try, but I haven’t really been. I figure I owe you at least a little something for scaring the shit out of you earlier.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Duo.”

Duo eyed him curiously, and Tony got the feeling Duo could read him the way that Tony could read machines. “Maybe,” he said. “But it’d been a shitty day—I owe your Captain a thanks for the warning about Fury, by the way. He grilled me for fucking hours.” He let his head fall all the way back.

“Fury? Fury was grilling you?” Tony asked, alarmed.

“Yeah. Rogers said he’d want to know about the Hydra agents, and he certainly did. Though for a guy who likes to seem omniscient, he has some seriously fun buttons to push.” He gave Tony a smartass smirk that Tony could only imagine made Fury want to shoot him. “Complained loudly and often that I was definitely your kid.”

Tony managed to force a frown and keep his voice even as he said, “I wouldn’t have thought Fury-baiting would be genetic.”

Duo laughed again, this time a barking, amused sound. “It’s probably less specifically Fury-baiting than authority-baiting, but all the same, I suspect it’s something we have in common.” He sat up, pulled his legs back over from the side and crossed them in front of him, pulling his hair over a shoulder.

“That’s probably true,” Tony conceded. “So, worrying about you has kept me up plenty of nights. Why are you still up?”

“Haven’t really slept that great since… since Yuy left,” he admitted, and there again was the obvious hesitation before he said his partner’s name. “Don’t want to sleep tonight. Tonight will be bad.”

“Because of Fury?” Tony asked, red flags going off.

Duo shook his head though. “I won’t say Fury’s a pussycat, but as far as guys in the gray go, he’s not really scary. People who are mostly good usually aren’t.” He folded his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “I went to see Yuy, after…”

Tony frowned, not following. “I thought he didn’t remember you.”

“He doesn’t,” he said, voice tight. “I just… I got to say goodbye to Jesus. I needed to say goodbye to ’Ro. I knew, on some level, I knew that my Heero was gone. Seeing it though… seeing it was hard.”

“Is he having a hard time?” Tony asked, confused.

“Nope. He’s… he’s really happy. Happier than I ever saw him.” He didn’t say it, but Tony still heard, _Happier than when he was with me_. “I know it’s stupid to lose sleep over my ex being happy…”

“It’s not,” Tony said, thinking of Pepper, thinking of how much stress and fear and worry he put into her eyes. Thinking of how much more at ease, more grounded she had been since they called it quits for good. “It’s hard to admit that we may not be the best thing for the people we love,” he said, sharing because Duo had, and it felt right, almost sacred to speak these secrets and vulnerabilities into the predawn darkness. “It’s like taking a taser to all of our insecurities and lighting them up. I don’t like to sleep either when that happens.” Duo looked small, curled up so tightly. “Will Winner worry?”

A shoulder shrugged. “He’ll fuss, because that’s what Quat does, but he’s good at giving space when you really need it.”

It was late; Tony was tired but had no interest in trying to sleep right then. “Want to build something in the workshop with me?” he offered.

“Not going to send me to bed?” Duo asked, but there was a wry undertone to the question Tony liked.

“Nah. I figure if we’re both going to avoid a regular sleep schedule, might as well be productive. I’ve got some body armor prototypes I’m playing with, and I’d like to get an actual law enforcement individual’s take on them.”

For a beat, Tony thought he’d overstepped; then Duo unfolded with enviable grace from the awkward position. “Okay,” he said and held out his hand to Tony. Tony took it and was pulled to his feet with surprising strength. “Please tell me you have coffee?”

“I’m surprised caffeine works on you?” Tony admitted.

“Sally says it’s psychosomatic. I don’t fucking care if it’s the caffeine or the placebo effect, I just care that it works.”

Tony laughed. “Well, there is always coffee in the Tower,” he assured, and his heart felt lighter as Duo fell into step beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some Duo and Tony bonding time. Hope you enjoyed!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Starks. Selfish even in their selflessness.

Tony could not have asked for a better person to review the body armor designs. Duo understood the functionality, the limitations, asked all the right questions. He even got Duo to try on a prototype for him. Duo tested his range of motion, giving his thoughts on how different hostlers would fit against it.

“Is it comfortable?” Tony asked, two screens up, FRIDAY taking notes of Duo’s responses.

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Duo said, swinging his arms. “Way more comfortable than traditional Kevlar, that’s for sure.”

The _Jesus_ tattoo on his neck seemed like it was taunting Tony, very dark against Duo’s pale skin.

“Why the tattoo?” Tony asked because it was eating at him. In Tony’s experience, it was the kind of things that girls with low self-esteem and self-worth did. Young and dumb and overly romantic in best-case scenarios.

“Huh?” Duo asked.

Tony motioned to his own throat with a couple fingers. “The tattoo.”

Duo looked at him somewhere between confused and amused. “Not a fan?”

“It… just… doesn’t seem like…” He floundered, not able to come up with anything that wouldn’t be insulting. Duo crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, going for a stern face but eyes gleaming with humor, and Tony gave up. “Just not what I’d expect from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Duo asked, but he was still on the curious side of amused.

Tony had started this conversation. He reserved the right to end it. “How are the edges?”

“Oh, no,” Duo said, “Nice try. Tell me what I’m like.”

Too late Tony remembered what Winner had said about Duo not believing he was valued beyond his skills. He changed tack. “I can’t imagine wanting someone’s name on me,” he admitted.

Duo gave him a look that said he was well aware of what Tony was doing, but he was going to let it go—at least this time. “Jesus’s idea, obviously.”

“But he did have your name, too,” Tony remembered.

“Also his idea. I’d like to say that I threw a fit and said I wasn’t doing it if he wasn’t, but I didn’t. It just got to a point where I loved him, and it would make him happy, so refusing it just seemed petty, though I did draw the line and insist it could be hidden. He wanted it to be this big, obnoxious script that took up the whole side of my neck and _screamed_ cartel.” He rolled his eyes, but there was something affectionate in it. “He surprised me by getting my name on our honeymoon.” His eyes went distant and sad, but he shook his head as if shaking it away. Tony opened his mouth to ask another question, but Duo cut him off. “Nope. No more talking about me tonight. This morning? Today?” He chuckled, that slightly giddy laugh of the way overtired. “Your turn,” he said.

“My turn?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, you’ve been asking me all these questions, but you haven’t told me anything about you.”

“You haven’t exactly seemed interested,” Tony pointed out gently.

“Yeah, well, I’m listening now. So tell me something I couldn’t just look up about you.”

“Have you researched me?” Tony wondered.

“No, well, not more than I knew before. I’m enough of an engineering nerd to read your papers and shit. I could never get into giving a damn about celebrities’ personal lives though. I used to pick up some just from office gossip, but it’s been a while.”

“You know one thing that’s different about you?” Tony asked, beginning with that querying tone he liked to lead with.

“I thought we weren’t talking about me anymore?”

“You haven’t asked me about my money. Not once. You don’t assume I can spend it freely on you—even though I obviously can.”

Duo turned away. “I don’t get your point.”

“My point is that you don’t seem interested in it at all.” Tony waved a screwdriver in his direction. “That makes you different. Especially because you, more than literally anyone else living, have a claim to it. You grew up with, literally nothing, as far as I understand. How do you not care?”

“I told you we weren’t talking about me anymore.”

“You told. This is me ignoring it.”

“And this is me telling you no and meaning it.”

“Come _on_ ,” Tony said, throwing his head back dramatically before looking at Duo again. “You have to care, or at least be curious.”

“It’s your money, not mine, and I know that being rich doesn’t make you happy.”

“Most people think it does.”

“Do I strike you as ‘most people’?” Duo asked dryly, meeting his eyes. 

“But you are aware of it. You told Barnes about all the costs of maintaining and outfitting the Avengers.”

Duo sighed. “Last question I’m answering, and I mean it.”

“Fine,” Tony agreed. The glare Duo shot at him made him put his hands up. “Swear. Last question tonight. Today.”

Duo eyed him for another moment, gauging his insincerity before saying, “I grew up with nothing, so I don’t take where things come from for granted. I do read the news, and the lawsuits you’re facing are in it. That Barnes and Rogers didn’t know about them when the knowledge is so accessible doesn’t say a lot nice about them. Also, Quatre Winner is one of my best friends. I understand what all this”— He indicated the workshop or the Tower, or maybe both.—“costs better than most. And if I ever so much as _breathed_ that I needed money in Quat’s general direction, he’d probably throw more at me than I could spend in a lifetime. All of which means, I don’t need your money, so it’s none of my business what you do with it.” He leaned against the table. “So your turn to do some sharing.”

“What do you want to know about?”

“Well, you’ve never been married, so I can’t nag you to tell me about your spouse.” Tony fidgeted, wondering what Duo might ask, resolving to answer as honestly as he could. Tony _had_ asked some fairly personal questions, after all. “Tell me about going to college when you were a snot-nosed brat.”

Tony did not sigh in relief because the look Duo gave him said he knew he was pitching Tony an easy topic. Tony was both relieved and disappointed. Relieved because answering the hard questions was going to be, well, hard. Disappointed because Duo wasn’t letting him off the hook as much as he was keeping him at arm’s length. Tony cared about the hard questions, needed the answers because he needed to know whatever he could about his son. Duo didn’t ask them because he wasn’t there yet.

That was okay. Duo had trust issues—and well-founded ones by the looks of it. Tony wasn’t going to win him over in a day or even a few weeks, even if it was hard to admit. He had plenty of kid-in-college stories he could share. If he could make Duo laugh, he’d count that as a win.

* * *

When FRIDAY told Natasha that Tony was in the workshop at 8 a.m., she wasn’t surprised. She was surprised to find Maxwell down there with him, sitting up on the oversized couch that had ended up in the workshop back when Steve used to hang out there and had never found its way out again. Tony’s head was pillowed on his thigh, an arm around Duo’s waist, another wrapped around a thigh as if Tony was making sure no one could pry Duo away from him. Natasha was familiar with Tony’s tendency to cling onto anyone near when he slept, but it had been a while since she’d seen it.

She must have made a noise because Maxwell’s head jerked up, eyes alert, looking for a threat until they found her. Tony made a grumbling noise, and Maxwell relaxed, running a hand through Tony’s hair, soothing him back into sleep automatically.

Making a decision, Natasha let herself into the workshop. She took a chance and signed _Trade you?_

Maxwell blinked, actual awareness returning instead of instinctual reaction. He looked down at Tony, took in his situation, and shrugged. “Don’t think he’s letting go until he wakes up,” he admitted. He pitched his voice perfectly to be heard but not to disturb Tony.

“You sure?” she asked. “He needs the sleep, but you look like you could use it too,” she pointed out. Sleeping upright like that couldn’t have been very restful, and he hadn’t been deeply asleep.

He stretched his neck with care, working out kinks, but he settled back. “Yeah. I do this too. Move the person I’m attached to, and it’s over.”

“You weren’t,” she pointed out, moving closer, raising an eyebrow.

“I was just dozing.”

“You could have left before he curled up on you,” Natasha pointed out.

“I was reading through the Accords. Didn’t seem worth waking him up. Figured he sleeps better with someone else.”

It was the same thoughtless kindness that Tony sometimes had—doing something because it was the right thing to do, not because he was being nice or trying to impress anyone. Tony’s were harder to pick up on because his often came in the form of throwing money at things, but she thought it came from the same place.

“Do you have anywhere to be today?” she asked, deciding not to comment on the Accords.

“Technically, but I’m really tired of being treated like the bad guy. NYPD knows where to find me if they need to.” He shifted carefully, managing to uncross his legs without dislodging Tony, and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

“He really wants this to work.” Natasha shouldn’t have been the one to say it, but it needed to be said and she wasn’t sure anyone else would.

Maxwell quirked an eyebrow exactly like Tony did, and for the first time, she saw the physical resemblance. It wasn’t in his features, exactly. It was in the animation in his face, the brightness in his eyes, the way he smirked. “Did you really think I hadn’t noticed?” he asked. Tony cuddled in closer to Maxwell. Maxwell turned his attention back to him again, a hand rubbing at the nape of Tony’s neck, soothing the tension there, and Tony sighed back into sleep. When he looked back up, his eyes were thoughtful. “Wouldn’t have thought Tony Stark was touch starved.”

His eyes were vaguely curious, but she could tell if she didn’t answer the implied question, he’d shrug it away. “Howard Stark was a great man,” she began, taking care with her words, and Maxwell’s fingers continued their soothing.

“Not such a great father, I gather?” Natasha simply shook her head. “He doesn’t know how to quit, does he?” he asked. “Even after everything with Rogers—they’re here because of Stark. He went to bat for them. He’s doing everything he can to make these Accords work for you all.”

“If you’re asking if he’ll ever be okay with failing you, then no. Not sure if there’s anything you can do to make him give up trying. Maybe kill babies?” It was teasing, but also kind of true. It would probably take a major atrocity for Tony to assume Maxwell was beyond saving.

Maxwell sighed, moving his hand to card through Tony’s hair. He looked down at Tony with ancient eyes. Something around the edges tightened and he looked back up at Natasha, meeting her gaze, pinning her in place as surely as if he’d frozen her to the spot. “I need a promise.” Natasha’s heart began to pound because she knew that look. That look was one Tony had at his most dangerous, his most reckless. It wasn’t one she enjoyed seeing reflected in his son.

“I need to know what I’m promising first.”

“If I ever become a threat to him, I need you to put me down.”

Whatever she expected Maxwell to say, it wasn’t that.

“No,” she said, sharp and immediate.

“He needs someone to do what’s best for him, even if he will hate them for it. It can’t be Rogers or Barnes. He’d kill them. I don’t think Banner has enough control to do it, or he’d ever forgive himself if he did.”

“You can’t ask this of me,” she said, low, a thread of anger in it. 

“You don’t know what I am. I hope you never have to learn. But Death walks with me, Widow.” She glared as he invoked her code name. “And it doesn’t play well with others. Loving me has been enough to get people killed in the past. If I’m going to take this risk, take this chance, I need someone who is on his side, above all. Someone willing to make the hard call if necessary.”

“There is no world in which _killing you_ will ever be the right thing for Tony,” she said, and her voice was rough with emotion. “He’s already all in. If something happened to you—”

“If something happens to me, he needs someone to hold him together. I think he has those. But if _I_ happen to him, he needs someone to make the call he can’t.”

“I won’t do it. I won’t make that promise,” she said.

“Then I can’t stay.”

If it wouldn’t wake Tony, she’d have slapped him, but if there were ever a conversation she didn’t want Tony to overhear, it was this one. “ _Damn_ you,” she said and meant it. “There is a middle ground.”

“Not in this. I’ve walked that edge before. If there’s a next time… I don’t know that anything’s pulling me back. Quat would give the order, if he were there, but I doubt you’ll have that luxury.”

“I already told you no,” she told him, turning to leave.

“Natasha,” Maxwell raised his voice enough to make her stop. She looked back at him. “I need that promise, or I need to leave.”

Those eerie, unnatural eyes were unyielding. He would do it. He would leave. Be gone. Somehow Natasha knew Tony would never find him. Maxwell had been a ghost for two years, and he hadn’t even been _trying_ to hide.

“ _Damn_ you,” she repeated, barely above a whisper.

But Maxwell’s eyes softened. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice rang with sincerity and even relief. “And I’m sorry.”

The only reason she didn’t slam the door was because it didn’t slam. Fucking Starks. Selfish even in their selflessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early in thanks to the lovely goddess who decided to leave a comment on almost every single chapter. You 100% made my day the last couple of days.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did we wake Sleeping Beauty?”

Tony woke slowly, voices murmuring around him, the tone thoughtful.

“Did we wake Sleeping Beauty?” The teasing voice was so unexpected, it took Tony a minute to place it.

“Duo?” he asked, looking up, then realized he’d done his best octopus impression to wrap himself around Duo, and sat up, disentangling them. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have let me—”

Waving it off, Duo said, “You needed the sleep.”

“So do you,” Winner said pointedly. Tony realized that although Duo was as relaxed as he had seen him, he did seem tired.

“Sleep tonight. Promise,” Duo said, making an x over his chest. “But excuse me for a minute.” He popped up as though he hadn’t just had Tony wrapped around him for who knew how many hours and vanished down the short hall to the bathroom.

Tony rubbed his face, making sure he didn’t have any dried drool clinging to his skin and cleaning the sleep from his eyes. When he felt less vulnerable, he looked up to find Winner watching him bemused.

“I don’t know what you did, but congratulations,” Winner said with honest warmth.

“Huh?” was Tony’s intelligent response.

“It looks like he’s decided you’re his.”

“Should I know what that means?” Tony asked.

Winner gave him a mysterious smile but just shook his head. Tony had the wandering thought that Pepper and Winner should never meet.

* * *

By lunchtime, Winner provided Tony with a list of extensive notes and suggestions about the Accords and announced they would be leaving shortly. Tony tried to protest, but Duo seemed at ease with the announcement.

Tony and Natasha went down with Duo to see Winner and Tall Barton off. Happy would drive them to the airport.

Winner surprised Tony with a hug, and he gave good ones, but while he did, he said, “If you break him, know that I will break _you_ ,” in a low, genuinely threatening tone. When he stepped away, he was smiling and Tony was staring. Without missing a beat, he turned to Natasha, “Ms. Romanov, a pleasure,” with his hand held out. She took it, bemused.

“Anytime, Mr. Winner.”

“Quatre,” he said, that same sunny smile not at all reflecting the threat he’d delivered.

“Natasha,” she said as well.

He nodded then moved on to Duo, who he wrapped in a tight hug. Tony didn’t catch what he said, but he could see Duo smiling. Tall Barton merely nodded at them.

“Thanks for allowing us to impose,” Tall Barton said.

“My pleasure,” Tony said. It was even kind of true if only because their presence so obviously relaxed his son. Tall Barton did give Duo a hug, though a much shorter one.

“If you need us,” Tall Barton told Duo.

“Always,” he agreed. “That goes both ways too.”

Tall Barton’s eyes softened. “Always.”

They stood watching as Winner and Tall Barton got in the car and drove off.

“You sure you’re okay with them going?” Tony asked Duo.

Duo looked at him in surprise. “It’s fine,” he said, and it actually sounded like it. “It’s always nice to see each other, but we don’t need to see each other to stay close.”

“Do you have anything on your plate today?” Tony asked.

“Nope, actually. I called while you were napping. After that mess with Hydra, NYPD pretty much told me ‘we’ll call you’ if they need anything else.”

“Well, I’ve got all of Winner’s notes to go through—does the guy even sleep?”

Duo chuckled softly. “He does. He just reads and thinks really fast. He is a genius, you know? Just a different kind than you,” he said bumping Tony’s shoulder lightly.

“I hadn’t heard that Winner is a genius,” Natasha said, frowning.

“We’re all just full of surprises,” Duo teased but didn’t elaborate.

“How are your stitches?” Tony asked.

Duo rolled his eyes, but obligingly lifted his shirt. The stitches were bare to the air, but to Tony’s eye, they looked… more healed than he would have expected. Even most of the surrounding bruising was the mostly-healed yellow and green. Duo seemed to realize it because he said, “I told you I heal fast.” He dropped the edge of the shirt. “I’ll let Dr. Banner take a look at them tonight, but I think they can come out tomorrow.”

It wasn’t supersoldier fast, but it was definitely faster than Tony or even Natasha and Short Barton healed. Duo turned to head to the elevator, but not before pausing to run a hand over the hood of Tony’s newest Audi e-Tron concept car, running his eyes over the vehicle appreciatively.

“Do you like cars?” Tony asked.

Duo startled as if he didn’t realize he’d done it. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. He was in all-black, that seemed to be his go-to, but he was wearing just a basic crew under his jacket today. It was odd to see Duo appear caught off guard. “Yeah. I mean, I like pretty much anything that has a motor—cars, ships, aircraft.” He shrugged.

“You want to tinker?”

“And that’s my cue to head out,” Natasha said. “See you, boys.” She strode to the elevator.

“You’d let me touch one of these babies?” Duo asked when she’d gone.

Tony made a dismissive snort. “You’re my kid. You’ll be fine.”

* * *

Rhodey was surprised when he stopped by Avengers Tower that Tony was in his private garage and not in the workshop.

“Duo’s with him,” FRIDAY informed him, and if an AI could be gleeful, she was. He also noted that the kid apparently got FRIDAY to call him by his first name. It would never have happened with JARVIS.

Rhodey wasn’t sure how he felt about Tony’s son. He wished he were surprised that Tony did have a mysterious love child out there, but if he were being totally honest? He had wondered at the fact that Tony seemed to have _not_ made that mistake for years. That said, he knew that the kid stressed Tony out, which could be… problematic.

Tony’s usual music was going, which was normal. “FRIDAY, music please?” Rhodey asked.

Popping up from behind a partially dismantled motor, Tony demanded, “What have I said about turning off my music?” though he gave Rhodey a smile.

The sound of wheels on the pavement revealed that Tony’s son had been under another car. He sat up on the creeper. Rhodey had seen a couple pictures that Tony had gotten his hands on—all of them official; official Preventers photo, driver’s license photo, license for operating heavy machinery. He was older than in those photos, which made sense—most of them had been taken when he was sixteen. His face had lost the baby roundness Rhodey had become familiar with, and the eyes were darker, heavier, warier. In the old pictures, static though they’d been, he’d seemed… impish, as if he were ready to laugh. Rhodey didn’t see any of that now. He had some grease smeared on his forehead and cheek, a wrench in one hand, his other behind him as if he were reaching for a gun. He was all in black, and colorful tattoos peeked out under the short sleeves, ending before his elbows. He still had the long braid though, pulled over one shoulder.

“You can stand down, kid,” Tony told him. “Rhodey’s a friendly.”

Rhodey watched as he visibly relaxed and pulled his hand back out. He stood, and Rhodey watched him do it with enviable grace. Even before the accident, getting off those creepers had been hell.

“Rhodey, this is Duo, Duo, this is Rhodey.”

“Colonel James Rhodes,” Rhodey said, longsuffering. He held out his hand to the kid, who had taken out a rag to wipe some of the grease off.

“Duo Reyes-Maxwell,” he said, taking Rhodey’s hand. He was almost comically short—shorter than Natasha, even—but his hands were big, rough, and his grip was strong and sure. “So you’re best friend Rhodey?” he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

He told himself very firmly that it did not warm his heart to know that Tony had called him that.

“The one and only!” Tony confirmed, coming over. “How are thing? Haven’t touched base in a few days. I have some thoughts on how to make the apparatus less overt.”

Duo’s eyes had taken in his apparatus with barely a glance, but now he paid more attention.

“You made this?” he asked Tony.

Tony already had the specs pulled up on several screens. “Yup. Still a work in progress, though.”

Duo didn’t glance this time—he really looked. It was a little creepy to see the wheels turning behind those purple eyes the exact same way he’d seen them spin behind Tony’s eyes innumerable times. “Can I ask?” was the first thing he asked though. Rhodey had to grin because that was more tact than Tony usually displayed in entire days.

“Total paralysis from the waist down,” he explained.

“The exoskeleton is still a prototype,” Tony said dismissively. “I’m going to do better.”

Rhodey sighed. “The exoskeleton is a damn miracle, Tones,” he said before turning his attention back to Duo. “Why the interest?”

“I have a friend who broke her back on an assignment. She’s wheelchair-bound now. I’d love to be able to give her something like this. She'd need prosthetics too, but I don't think they'd be that hard to integrate.”

Something about the story caught Tony’s attention, because he wandered closer. “Just a friend?” he asked.

Duo rolled his eyes at the suggestive tone. “You know my romantic history—it’s Heero and Jesus. Isolde was one of the partners I went through before Une let me and ’Ro partner. It was _our_ mission that her back and legs were broken on.”

“And you feel like that’s your fault?” Tony asked.

He shifted his weight and crossed his arms, and when he did it, Rhodey noticed the _Jesus_ tattooed on his neck and what certainly looked like a wedding band on his left hand. “It wasn’t,” he said after a moment, but it sounded grudging, the same way Tony admitted things were out of his control.

“And was this one of the partners who put you in the hospital?” Tony asked, a focused intensity that Rhodey knew to be wary of.

But Duo waved it off. “She’s one who ended up in the hospital with me,” he said, as dismissive as Tony had been about the exoskeleton.

“Your boss and I are going to have a very long discussion about resource allocation in the near future,” Tony told him.

Duo laughed, a bark of humor that seemed to catch him off guard. “Oh, please let me be a fly on the wall for that.” He snickered and grinned, still obviously amused by the idea. “Anyway, can I get the specs for the exoskeleton? I’m happy to fabricate it myself, if necessary?”

Tony opened his mouth, and Rhodey knew what he was going to say— _It’s not ready for the public. It’s still just a prototype._ “I think you should let her give them a try,” he interrupted. Tony didn’t think it was complete and wouldn’t want someone not in his immediate circle to test it in case something went wrong. His perfectionist streak meant well, but Rhodey had only been truly wheelchair-bound for a few weeks as Tony had gone into problem-solving overload to find a solution for him. He could not imagine how miraculous a gift the exoskeleton could be to someone who had been wheelchair-bound for years. Or even possibly had never walked at all. “Before you argue with me, just shut up and listen.”

Tony crossed his arms, unconsciously mirroring his son. That was going to take some getting used to. “I’m listening.”

“I know all the reasons you’re going to list as for why it isn’t ready. But Tones, your prototypes are other people’s life’s works, and you know it. You lit up the Tower on an arc reactor prototype. You took out military _jets_ with a suit prototype. I’m telling you—this?” He tapped a toe to make the point. “This is a miracle that will change so many lives. And I know that not everyone will be able to use it, but the sooner you can get this out, the sooner you get it to more people to see how other people react to it?” He could see he wasn’t quite getting through, so he changed tacks. “You want to make up for the weapons manufacturing? It isn’t going to be with the Avengers or with the arc reactor. You can do enormous good with both of those, but war hurts individuals. This?” He put his hands on the hip support of the exoskeleton. “This _heals_ individuals.”

He knew he had him when Tony sighed. He looked at Duo, contemplatively. Duo put his hands up, and Rhodey noticed starburst-like scars on his palms. “Don’t look at me. I know how to put machines together and take people apart. It’d be nice to be able to put a person back together, for a change. Especially a friend.”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a sigh. “Okay. You win. I’m going to need some information about her. These aren’t designed to be one size fits all or even most,” he warned.

“Tell me what you need, I can get it for you. I can even put you in contact with Sally, since I’m sure she’ll want to oversee her therapy, and if you don’t mind, Colonel Rhodes, I can put Sal in contact with your doctor?”

Rhodey gave him a dry look. He was young, yes—anyone under thirty was young to Rhodey these days though. He was young, but there was a quiet competence about him that reminded Rhodey of Tony calmly correcting MIT professors. “Under one condition,” he said, making his tone severe. 

Judging by Duo’s raised eyebrow, he didn’t buy Rhodey’s mock-serious tone. “That is?” he asked, willing to go along.

“None of that ‘Colonel Rhodes’ shit. I leave that for recruits. You’re Tony’s son—that makes you family,” he said, and it may have been a little teasing, but he also meant it.

Duo eyed him, crossing his arms, assessing, the wheels turning again. Then Rhodey saw it—that impish spark he’d seen in the static photos. “Whatever you say, Jimmy,” he said, and the grin he flashed was pure Stark mischief. It brought some of his best memories of a too-young Tony at MIT to mind.

Tony laughed and tried to turn it into a cough, but he wasn’t very successful. Rhodey gave him the expected glare, but it only made Tony laugh harder. “He’s got you there, Uncle Jimmy.”

Rhodey put his hands on his hips. “I do not deserve either of you,” he informed with wounded dignity.

Duo spun the wrench still in his hand. “Good thing that we don’t get what we deserve then, isn’t it?” He said it as if he were teasing, but Rhodey didn’t miss the heavy undercurrent of the words. He turned to go back to the creeper, and Rhodey somehow wasn’t surprised to see a gun tucked into the back of his pants. “You actually any use with machines, Jimmy? Or are you just going to stand around and watch us work?” he asked over his shoulder before he sat back down.

“Boss, Vision asked me to let you know that dinner is ready,” FRIDAY cut in.

Tony and Duo exchanged glances, and Rhodey could just imagine them both deciding to ignore eating for the machines. “Oh, no. You can both come back and finish this later,” he informed, going over and grabbing Tony by the back of the shirt.

“Traitor,” Tony said, sulking.

“Yup.”

“Duo, your uncle is a dirty, rotten traitor.”

“ _Hai, hai,_ ” Duo said, getting back up, and neither Rhodey nor Tony needed to understand Japanese to understand the condescending tone. He put the wrench away in Tony’s toolkit, grabbed a jacket, just throwing it over an arm rather than putting it on. “Let’s go see how Viz did without supervision.”

He pushed Tony in front of him to the elevator, and it took a moment for what he said to sink in.

“Wait,” Rhodey said, chasing after them in time to catch the elevator. “No one told me _Vision_ was making dinner!”

“Don’t worry,” Duo said, and Rhodey couldn’t help but notice that he’d put himself squarely in the corner of the elevator. “He’s using my recipes. I told him not to make any adjustments.”

“FRIDAY?” Rhodey asked.

“Yes, Colonel Rhodes?”

“Is it too late to order takeout?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A creeper is the actual name for those little skateboard-like rolly things you use to slide under cars. I looked it up. 
> 
> I thought it's worth reminding that Isolde's back was broken and so were her legs--badly enough that they were amputated below the knee. Duo is simplifying his explanation for Tony. 
> 
> Another lighthearted chapter. Hope you enjoyed. :)


End file.
